Hell Week
by AlElizabeth
Summary: Pre-Series AU. Sam goes to Stanford and what is meant to be a frat party soon turns into a nightmare. WARNING: Themes of physical, psychological and sexual abuse/torture.
1. Chapter 1

**Orientation Day**

Sam smiled as Branner Hall came into view. The Mission-style residence gleamed brightly in the warm, California sunshine, welcoming.

Slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder, information package in his hands, Sam approached the building that would be his home for at least the next year. For the first time since leaving his father and brother, the eighteen-year old felt more excitement than uncertainty. Now that he was at Stanford, it all seemed to become real, and not just some distant dream.

Sam passed kids his own age, boys and girls, walking in groups or pairs, dragging their parents along after them, laughing, chatting, seeming just as eager as him to start the school year.

Sam climbed the steps to the Hall and slipped inside, and paused to take in the sight of the lobby. The floor of the lobby was smooth, grey tile, with a long pine desk in the center where a Resident Assistant wearing a red t-shirt sat. There was a bank of mailboxes along one wall, above which a portrait of the Hall's namesake, John Casper Branner, watched over the comings and goings of students and visitors. On the opposite side of the mailboxes was a small lounge area with a dark grey area rug, coffee table, sofa and several chairs. Large windows allowed the sunshine to stream in and brightened the space. A corridor led to what Sam assumed was the dining room, common area and server. He made a mental note to check those out later on in the day. On either side of the reception desk, a corridor led, no doubt, to the student rooms. An RA, one boy and one girl, stood at the beginning of each hallway, directing students and parents.

Sam glanced down at his information package and approached the male RA, waiting patiently as he directed a finely dressed man and woman with a girl between them down the hall.

"Hi," Sam stepped forward, "I'm looking for my room?"

The older student peered down at the paper in Sam's hand for a moment and then pointed to an elevator.

"You're upstairs. Go left down the hallway, you can't miss it. I think your roommate is already there."

Sam nodded and stepped up to the elevator. When the door opened he stepped inside and pressed the button that would take him to the second floor. Alone in the elevator, he felt his heart rate quicken. Glancing around, he saw a poster advertising 'frosh week' activities and another for the college's first football game of the season.

The elevator beeped and the doors slid open. Gripping his duffel tightly, Sam turned left and started down a hallway with blue carpeting and cream coloured walls. Doors- some open, some closed- of the same pale pine the front desk had been made with, brass numbers shining underneath fluorescent ceiling lights passed by until Sam stopped, nearly colliding with a fat man perspiring in a suit.

"Sorry," Sam muttered and the man glared at him before walking into the room across the hall.

Glancing up at the door, the number 42 gleaming warmly, Sam took a breath before he grabbed the brass handle and turned it, opening the door.

Stepping inside, Sam came face-to-face with his roommate. He was crouched by the bed, putting his clothes into the build-in-drawers beneath, a large piece of luggage rested atop the mattress.

He had a shock of orange hair, pale skin with large freckles and grey eyes at crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Standing, Sam saw that he was short and stickily built. The boy was wearing navy blue dress pants, black dress shoes and a white button-up shirt that he had left unbuttoned partially to reveal a yellow t-shirt beneath.

"You must be my roommate," the boy stood up and reached out a hand, "My name's Terry Mullins."

Sam took his hand, "Sam Winchester."

"Hope you don't mind me taking the first room, Sam," Terry said, "But I get a bit claustrophobic, you know."

Sam smiled, "That's fine."

Glancing around the room, Sam saw that the blue carpet and beige walls from the hallway had continued into room. The right side held a twin bed and a dresser. The head of the bed pointed towards a radiator and two windows with the blinds wide open. The left side, held a door- that led to the adjoining bedroom- a bookcase, a desk and chair.

Sam turned and opened the door to his room and stepped inside. The layout was similar to Terry's except for the fact that his desk and his roommate's were right across from each other, his bed on the far side of the room. His room also had a pedestal sink and mirror whereas Terry's did not.

"I guess we're supposed to share?" Terry commented over Sam's shoulder.

"Did you see the bathrooms on your way down?" he asked and Sam shook his head. He stepped into the room and set his duffel down on the bed.

"Well, now that you're here, want to look around campus?" Terry asked.

"You haven't had the chance?" Sam asked.

Terry shook his head, "I wanted to get rid of my parents first."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"You don't get it," Terry told him, "My mother would have introduced me to everyone like I was eight instead of eighteen."

Suddenly, he put on a high-pitched voice, "Oh this is our son Terrence- but don't call him that, he hates it- he's a sweet boy, you'll be good friends, I know it!"

Sam couldn't help but laugh.

"It'd be awful," Terry told him, shuddering comically.

"Sure," Sam said, "Let's go. Just give me a minute."

Going to his duffel, he pulled out his cell phone and sent his brother a text:

_Hey D,_

_Made it. Found my room and met my roommate. His name's Terry. You'd like him._

_TTYL_

"Who're you talking to?" Terry asked as Sam shoved his phone into the pocket of his jeans.

"Just my brother," Sam told him, stepping out of his room and closing the door behind him.

Terry nodded, "Lucky, I'm an only child."

Sam smiled and shook his head.

Sam and Terry left their room and headed down the hallway. Terry asking him what he was at Stanford to study.

"Pre-Law," Sam told him.

Terry nodded, "Impressive."

Sam smiled, "What about you?"

"Pre-Med," Terry told him. They rode the elevator down to the first floor, squeezing out as a family began stepping into the lift as soon as the door opened.

Crossing the lobby, Sam followed his new friend as he stepped outside.

"So, are you from around here?" Terry asked as they started down the path, walking aimlessly, with no destination in mind.

"My family traveled a lot," Sam told him.

Terry suddenly started singing 'I've Been Everywhere' and Sam laughed. They headed down the sidewalk, past academic buildings, groups of students. Terry looked back a two Asian girls giggling to one another, both wearing short shorts.

"Maybe we should join a club?" he asked Sam.

"I don't know," Sam hesitated, "I'm not sure I'll have time."

"Sam," Terry looked at him, "You can't do schoolwork 24/7 or brain will turn to jelly. You need some fun in your life."

Sam shrugged, "I'm just not ah, into extra-curriculars."

"All work and no play makes Sammy a very dull boy," Terry chided.

Sam glanced at him.

"What?" Terry asked, his smile disappearing.

"My brother calls me Sammy," he told him.

"I won't, if that's what you want," Terry assured him.

"No, it's okay," Sam smiled, letting Terry know he wasn't mad.

"C'mon, let's see if we can't find a club you'd be interested in," Terry grinned at him.

_W_

There had to be over a dozen clubs and groups all trying to get the attention of freshmen as they converged onto campus. There were clubs for specific religions- Jewish, Muslim, Christian, even Wiccan- as well as a Dungeons and Dragons club, a vegan club, a chess club, a computer club, plus the fraternities and sororities.

Sam, truthfully, was a little overwhelmed by the choices. He and Terry paused and sat on the edge of a raised circular flowerbed in the midst of all the commotion, voices calling out to passersby in an attempt to grab their attention ringing in their ears.

"Maybe we could join a fraternity?" Terry offered. Sam grimaced.

"I'm sure they can't all be full of rich snobs," Terry told him, "Besides, if we get into a fraternity, that means we'll be able to date sorority girls."

"I don't know," Sam said, watching a girl at a booth for the Nature Club handing out reusable straws to freshmen who passed by, "They just seem kind of cultish to me."

"They're not cults, Sam, they more like… a band of brothers."

Sam snorted, "Sure, Terry."

"Look, it wouldn't hurt to try, right?" Terry wheedled.

Sam shook his head, "You go ahead. But that kind of thing's not for me."

"Man, you are in the right program," Terry muttered, "You're a party pooper."

Sam shrugged. He pulled his phone from his pocket to see if he had a text back from Dean. Nothing. Oh, well, his brother was probably busy.

"I'll be back in a minute," Terry put a hand on Sam's arm and pushed himself into a standing position.

Sam watched as his roommate walked off the sidewalk into the space between two academic buildings. Assuming Terry was looking for a bathroom, he leaned back, trying to enjoy himself.

"Hey Sam!"

Sam looked around to see his friend hurrying towards him through the crowd, a goofy smile plastered on his face.

"What's up?" Sam asked.

"I just got invited to join a fraternity," Terry told him, a little smug. He showed Sam a piece of black paper the size of post card with silvery script written on it.

Sam read the name of the fraternity, "Beta Theta Upsilon?"

"Yeah, they're having a party tonight and I'm invited," Terry told Sam, "The guy said I could bring a friend if I wanted. You wanna come with me?"

"There was a guy?" Sam asked and Terry turned, pointing to the alleyway in between the two building he had gone to, "Yeah, he was right there. You didn't see him?"

Sam shook his head.

"So, you want to come with me? It might be fun even if we don't want to join," Terry asked.

Sam sighed. He really didn't want to get involved in anything that might jeopardize his scholarship. But, he didn't want to alienate himself from his roommate and so far, only friend, for an entire year.

"Okay, sure, I'll come along," Sam smiled at him, "But I'm not making any promises."

Terry grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Thanks, man," he said, "Let's head back to Branner for a bit."

_W_

Once they returned to their rooms, Sam unpacked his meager belongings and then sat down at Terry's desk while the other boy organized his stuff.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Sam saw that Dean had returned his text:

_Glad you're making friends._

_TTYL_

Although the message was short it made Sam smile to know that his brother was happy for him. He paused, wondering if he should tell his brother about the frat party and then decided he would; Dean might get a kick out of it:

_T and me going to frat party 2 night. Should be interesting. Tell you all about it later._

Once dinnertime rolled around, Sam and Terry made their way to the servery. It was bustling and noisy, the scent of food thick in the air.

Sam headed straight to the salad bar and began filling a bowl with lettuce, tomatoes, red onions, croutons, sliced avocado and pumpkin seeds.

Terry watched Sam, a disbelieving expression on his face.

"You're eating that and you didn't join the Vegan Club?"

Sam chuckled, "I just like to eat healthy."

"Whatever man," Terry shrugged and got into line for a burger.

Sam grabbed a bottle of unsweetened iced tea from one of the refrigerators positioned around the perimeter of the servery and went to pay for his meal.

He waited for Terry to pay for his food, eyeing the dining room and trying to find somewhere they could sit.

"There's a spot," Terry said as he approached Sam and the two roommates quickly claimed a small round table with two chairs.

Sam looked at Terry's dinner: a cheeseburger with bacon and a fried egg on top, a mountain of chili fries, and a bottle of Pepsi to wash it all down with.

"My brother would love you," Sam told his friend, stabbing his fork into his salad, "You have the same idea of what's good food."

They spent dinner talking casually about their upcoming classes, the books they needed to get, what their professors might be like.

"Why do you want to join a fraternity so bad?" Sam asked Terry.

The boy blushed, "Well, my Dad was in one when he went to college and for as long as I remember he was always raving about what a great experience he had. He still has friends he met back in fraternity."

Sam nodded. He guessed he could understand that.

"I think he'd be disappointed in me if I didn't at least try to join one," Terry finished, sucking down the last of his Pepsi.

_W_

At twenty to ten, Terry and Sam walked down the sidewalk, towards the Beta Theta Upsilon house. Terry grumbling all the way that they were late.

"You were the one who couldn't decide what to wear," Sam reminded him, "It's a frat party, Terry, not a presidential inauguration."

"I just want to make a good impression," Terry pouted and wiggled his tie, "Does this look okay?"

Sam just shook his head. He hadn't bothered changing his clothes, not matter how much Terry pestered him. He was fine wearing his jeans and a flannel button down. Besides, he was really just going to support his friend; he didn't really have any intentions of joining the fraternity.

The Beta Theta Upsilon house was further than they had thought, and although it was lit up from within, it stood alone among quiet residential homes. Jazz music floated through the air towards Sam and Terry, just audible over the sounds of voices.

The two boys walked up the path towards the house and crossed the sprawling porch. There was a porch swing hanging from the overhang, a blonde girl slumped drunkenly to one side on it, her dress riding up her thigh.

"Is she okay?" Sam muttered.

"I'm sure she's fine," Terry assured him and once again fiddled with his tie.

"Do we knock?" Sam asked.

Terry shrugged and lifted his hand. Before he could touch the door however, it swung open to reveal a tall young man with pale blond hair and piercing blue eyes.

"Um… hi," Terry said, "We're ah, here for the party?"

The young man said nothing, staring intently at Terry and then to Sam, only his eyes moving as he took in the taller man.

"Come in, come in," the young man told them, speaking in a surprisingly deep voice.

Moving out of the way, he let Sam and Terry enter.

"My name is Magnus," he told them, "I am the leader of this fraternity."

Terry smiled, "I'm Terry Mullins. I got this invitation earlier today from-"

He paused, eyes scanning the entryway behind Magnus and caught sight of the Brother who had given him the invite, "Him! He gave me the invitation!"

Magnus turned to look at whom Terry was pointing at and then returned his attention back to him, "Yes, Brother Titus was recruiting today. So, you wish to Pledge to Beta Theta Upsilon?"

Sam frowned. He was getting creepy vibes from this Magnus and he wasn't sure if it was just the older man putting on a show for them or not.

"Well, I want to," Terry told Magnus, "Sam's not so sure."

Magnus turned his icy eyes on the taller boy.

"Perhaps we can change your mind… Sam," he said and smiled, showing glaringly white teeth.

"Come inside, have a drink, socialize," Magnus told them, "See if we can't convince you to join our Brotherhood."

Sam nodded and watched as Magnus walked away, deeper into the house.

"Is it just me or is he kind of strange?" Sam muttered to Terry but his friend wasn't listening. He was walking into what appeared to be a parlour, a group of Brothers were talking with some boys around Terry's age, clearly more students wishing to pledge.

Sam shook his head and followed his friend. Glancing around, he saw that there were a few girls in attendance, which, he guessed was to be expected at a frat party and noticed that most of them were hanging of the Brothers, hardly paying the younger boys any attention.

Sam jumped when someone touched his arm and he turned to see a young woman wearing a short dress, holding a serving tray with glasses of alcohol. She smiled a little too widely at Sam.

"Can I offer you a drink?" she asked. Sam shook his head.

"I'll have one!" Terry, who had just caught back up with Sam grabbed one of the glasses, "Thanks."

Terry took a generous mouthful of the liquid and grimaced, "Oh my God! That has to be ninety percent booze!"

"Why don't you sit down or something, Sam? Talk to someone instead of standing around? You look awkward as hell," Terry told him and polished off the glass of alcohol, setting the empty glass on a coffee table.

Sam glanced around and found an empty armchair and dropped into it to make Terry happy.

"See those guys over there?" the red-haired boy asked and Sam nodded.

"They want to pledge too."

"Cool," Sam muttered. Terry looked down at him.

"You could at least look like you're trying to have fun," he told Sam. Sam frowned at him.

"Fine, I'll see you later then," Terry told him, "I don't want your negativity ruining my chances to join."

Sam watched his roommate stalk off to where Brother Titus was standing with the woman handing out drinks.

Sam folded his arms, realizing that he had made a mistake in coming here.

After a moment he pulled his phone out and sent Dean another text:

_At the party. Not sure I like it. May go home early. This guy Magnus is creeping me out. _

"Can I offer you a drink?"

Sam looked up to see another scantily clad girl with a serving tray.

"No," Sam replied and returned his gaze to his phone. Dean had texted him back:

_Bummer. Y not leave? Any hot girls tho?_

Sam smiled slightly and texted again:

_Waiting for Terry._

Sam shoved his phone in his pocket as a Brother approached him.

"You are not happy with our hospitality?" he asked Sam, looking as though the younger man personally offended him.

"What? No, I just," Sam began, "I just don't like drinking."

"You don't wish to pledge then?" the Brother asked.

"I'm really just here because my friend dragged me along," Sam admitted.

"Pity," the Brother said, "We would have loved to have you join us."

Sam frowned, uncomfortable, as the Brother walked away.

"Sam!" Terry's voice called to him from the crowd.

Sam stood up and followed Terry's voice, "Look at all this food!"

Terry had found the kitchen. An island stood in the middle, invisible beneath the assorted hors d'oeuvres. Two more young women stood in the kitchen, wearing short dresses, oven mitts and wide smiles.

"That's great," Sam told his friend, "Look Terry, this isn't for me, I'll meet you back-"

The other boy grabbed his arm, "C'mon Sam, don't leave. We just got here."

Sam shook his head, "You have fun but I'm go-"

"Look, I won't bug you again, just please, stay?" Terry begged and Sam sighed.

"Fine," Sam left Terry in the kitchen and returned to the armchair.

Again, Sam pulled his phone out. Dean had sent him another text:

_Name of Frat?_

Sam typed back:

_Beta Theta Upsilon._

"Can I offer you-"

Sam looked up before the girl could finish and snapped, "No, I don't want a drink!"

The girl hurried away and Sam suddenly felt bad for yelling at her.

"This is stupid," Sam muttered to himself, watching the people around him, hoping Terry would get bored so they could leave.

Sam kept looking at his phone: checking the time, checking if Dean had texted him back, as the minutes dragged on.

He was just about to say screw it and leave whether Terry went with him or not, his friend lurched over to him, reeking of alcohol.

"It's happening, Sammy!" he slurred, "I'm in!"

"What?" Sam asked, "Terry, you're drunk."

"Magnus just told me!" his roommate crowed, "They agreed to take me!"

Sam forced himself to smile, "That's great Terry, but we should get back to Branner Hall before-"

A hand on Sam's shoulder stopped him and he turned to see Magnus himself.

"It is time," the fraternity leader told them.

"Look, I'd like to take Terry back to our dorm. He's had way too much to drink," Sam told him.

Magnus just smiled, ignoring Sam, and spoke to Terry, "Come."

Terry grinned at Sam.

"Terry, no-" he began but the other boy was already following after Magnus.

"Shit," Sam swore and trailed after his friend.

Magnus and the other Brothers had shepherded the pledges into the kitchen where a door stood open, formerly hidden inside what seemed to be a pantry. The doorway led to what could have been a basement or cellar but the fact that Sam had not seen it before made him uneasy.

Magnus stopped in front of the doorway, his back to the descending staircase. His blue eyes caught Sam's hazel ones and he smiled widely.

"You've decided to join us, then?"

Sam folded his arms across his chest, "I'm just here for my friend."

Magnus tilted his head slightly and his gaze slid to take in the Brothers and the new pledges.

"Tonight the world you know has come to an end," Magnus announced in his deep voice. The hair on the back of Sam's neck stood up.

"And you are about to enter a new world," the fraternity leader continued.

"If you do everything we ask of you without question, you will be rewarded," Magnus' smile widened, showing off his pearly white teeth again, "Fail to follow our direction and you will be punished."

Magnus frowned. One of the new pledges let out a belch. The fraternity leader's gaze fell on him. The young man quickly stammered an apology.

"This week will be a test of resilience, of strength, of obedience," Magnus continued, "Not all of you will see it to the end, but those of you who do will honour not only yourselves but us."

Magnus paused. Sam wondered if he was going to ask if they had any questions but he didn't. Instead he turned his back to them and, started down the staircase.

One of the Brothers, who remained in the kitchen, motioned to the first pledge in line to follow. The young man did, hurrying to catch up to Magnus as he descended into darkness.

Sam watched, his sense of danger ratcheting up, as the boys followed Magnus. Terry, standing directly in front of him, made to go forward, but Sam grabbed his shoulder.

"I don't like this," Sam told his friend, "We should go."

Sam noticed that he and Terry were the only two left, surrounded by the Brothers.

"We'd like to leave," Sam told them in a stern tone.

"C'mon Sam," Terry slurred, "Don't wuss out on me now."

"Terry," Sam hissed, "Something's not right."

Terry rolled his eyes at Sam, clearly not feeling the same sense of impending doom his friend was.

"Stay with us," Brother Titus said, "One night. If you do not wish to continue by the morning, you may leave."

Sam looked at him, trying to gauge if he was being truthful.

"C'mon Sam," Terry tugged at Sam's arm, "Magnus' waiting for us."

Although Sam still did not feel in the least bit comfortable about the situation, he did not want to leave Terry by himself.

"Okay," he muttered, "Okay. But in the morning, I'm out of here."

He looked back at Brother Titus before he followed Terry down the steps. They were wooden and creaked with every footstep.

As Sam descended the stairs behind Terry, he caught sight of the basement and he knew he had made a terrible mistake. The floor was unfinished, hard-packed dirt, the walls thick concrete with no windows, with metal rings driven into them at two feet in height. Along the ceiling were a series of light bulbs, washing the basement in a sickly yellow glow.

"What is this?" Sam turned to Magnus.

The fraternity leader smiled, "You don't want to alarm your friends, do you Sam?"

Sam looked over at Terry, his eyes glazed and a small smile on his lips. Sam wondered if alcohol had been the only thing the Brothers had been serving tonight.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked.

"Why, we're just about to start the hazing," Magnus told him, "Weed out the weak from the strong."

"This isn't right," Sam argued and glanced towards the stairs, where the other Brothers stood, blocking the only exit.

"You don't want to be one of the weaklings," Magnus said and Sam wasn't sure if he was asking him a question or telling him.

The fraternity leader turned to the new pledges. He clapped his hands once and grinned, "All right, your first challenge as pledges of Beta Theta Upsilon house is a very easy one."

Sam watched, disgusted, as the boys seemed to be hanging on Magnus' every word. The fraternity leader glanced quickly at Sam, flashing a smile before announcing what he wanted the pledges to do.

"Remove all your clothing!"

Sam moved forward and grabbed Terry's arm, "Don't."

The other boy shook Sam's hand away, "What's wrong with you?"

"Terry, stop," Sam tried again as his friend pulled his tie off and dropped it onto the dirt floor at his feet.

Terry paused and shoved at Sam, "This is what they do, and you just have to play along! Why can't you play along?"

Sam shook his head, watching as the other boys shed their clothes until they were standing as naked as the day they were born.

Sam looked at Magnus, "This isn't funny."

The fraternity titled his head again, "I am not laughing."

"Let me out of here," Sam took a step forward, "If this really is some creepy hazing thing then you'll let me leave."

"Sam," Terry's voice called to him but Sam refused to turn around, "You gotta do what he says."

Magnus looked at Sam expectantly.

"You said you'd stay the night," Terry reminded him, "You said so. You have to do what they say."

Sam shook his head, "I am not taking off my clothes."

"That's too bad," Magnus spoke up again, "I like you Sam. You have promise and I really didn't want to start off like this."

Sam took a step back, unsure of what was about to happen. Magnus however didn't approach him. Instead he motioned to the Brothers, who quickly closed ranks around the young man.

"Don't you touch me," Sam snarled, "Any of you."

Sam thought he could take out one or two, maybe even three of the Brothers but certainly not all of them.

"Brothers," Magnus' voice called from behind them, "Please assist Sam with the first challenge."

Brother Titus moved first. Sam dodged him and shoved him into another Brother before turning around, ready to fight. Two Brothers rushed at him. Sam punched one in the solar plexus, sending him gasping and sprawling, and clotheslined the other as he ran forwards. Sam, paused for a second to gather his bearings, when someone grabbed him from behind, their hand fisted in his shirt. Sam twisted around to try and fend off his attacker when another Brother grabbed the right sleeve of his flannel. Another Brother tripped Sam, sending him to his knees.

"Get off me!" Sam growled as another Brother grabbed his left sleeve, "Let me go!"

With a ripping sound, Sam's flannel tore and for a moment he was able to stand up again, his shirt hanging off him.

Looking around, Sam noticed he couldn't see Magnus when suddenly his feet were swept out from underneath him and he landed on his back, the breath knocked out of him. Magnus smiled down at him as the Brothers converged on Sam, their hands pulling, tearing, and ripping until he was as naked as the others.

Sam sat up, trying futilely to cover himself, as Magnus began to speak to the new pledges again.

"I apologize for the wait," he told them, "Now we can continue onwards."

Sam wondered what the fraternity leader had in store for them now. He tried to catch Terry's eye but his roommate wouldn't even look at him. He only had eyes for Magnus.

"Now," Magnus said pleasantly enough, "I need you all to stand in front of one of those rings in the wall."

Sam watched as the others did as they asked, looking as though they were listening to the instructions of a favoured teacher.

Magnus looked at Sam and motioned with his head for Sam to follow suit.

The younger man almost didn't move but then decided he didn't want the Brothers to 'help' him again and he walked to the wall, to the last ring in the line up.

"Sit, with your backs to the wall," Magnus instructed and they all complied, even Sam.

Sam looked across the basement, to the old wooden steps, maybe twelve feet away. It would be nothing for him to make a run for it.

Sam's view of the stairs was suddenly obscured by one of the Brother's standing directly in front of him. Sam lifted his gaze and saw Brother Titus holding a pair of handcuffs.

"Brothers," Magnus said, "If you don't mind tucking the pledges in for the night?"

Brother Titus reached behind Sam and snapped one of the cuffs tightly around his wrist, then, raising his arm, looped it's chain through the metal ring in the wall before cuffing the other wrist.

Sam looked to his right and saw that Terry, who was shorter than Sam, had his hands raised uncomfortably. He wanted to say something to his roommate but he didn't know what to say.

"Congratulations," Magnus spoke, "You've all passed the first challenge. Tonight, rest and in the morning, your journey to become members of the Beta Theta Upsilon house continues."

He smiled at them all and turned around, heading back upstairs, the other Brother's following single-file. Sam, pretty sure this was not a fraternity, wondered why Magnus was continuing with the charade. As the last Brother left the basement, the pledges' clothing in a bulky pile in his arms, he turned out the lights, closed and locked the door, leaving Sam and the others in utter darkness.

**Author's Note:**

**Special thanks to mandancie for editing this chapter.**

**Please send a review if you want to read more! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Day One**

Sam shifted uncomfortably, trying to ease the pain in his shoulders. His hands had gone numb in the tight handcuffs. He had no idea what time it might be; he could see nothing in the darkness of the basement but he could hear the others breathing nearby which offered a sliver of comfort.

"Terry, you still with me?" Sam ground out, turning his head in the direction of where his friend sat.

"Sam?" Terry's voice mumbled, "What's going on?"

Before he could answer, Sam heard a gasp from one of the boys further down the line.

"What's happening?" Terry asked as the gasping continued, mingled with whimpers, "What's going on?"

Sam didn't know. He struggled to pull himself free from his cuffs, the metal digging into his hands. The gasping was turning to wheezing and slowing down.

"Something's wrong," Terry said, "Sam, something's wrong! What's going on?"

Abruptly the agonized breathing stopped, a slight moan trailing off into silence.

"Matt?" a trembling voice asked, "Matt, are you alright? Matt? Matt!"

Sam closed his eyes, trying to block out the young man's crying as his friend failed to respond to his calls.

"Sam! What's happening? What's going on? Say something, Sam!"

Terry's voice panicked beside him and Sam forced himself to speak.

"I don't know, Terry," Sam whispered, "I don't know."

_W_

The lights in the basement snapped on suddenly, momentarily blinding the boys.

Sam squinted down the line, and saw that Matt was sitting slumped forward, chin touching his chest, his skin pale. Beside him, his friend, who had been crying all night, whimpered and called his name again.

"Wake up, Matt. Please wake up."

The steps creaked as Magnus descended.

Matt's friend looked up, "Help him! Something's wrong with him! Please!"

Magnus approached the young man and, reaching out, tilted his head upwards. Sam could just make out Matt's open, unseeing eyes to know the young man was gone.

Magnus dropped Matt's head and looked at the remaining boys.

"He was weak," the told them. Matt's friend didn't appear to be listening, "You killed him! You killed him!"

"This is no time to dwell on the past," Magnus continued, speaking over the young man, "You must look to the future and what it holds for you. You are all one step closer to becoming Brothers."

Matt's friend wouldn't stop, swearing at Magnus, calling him murderer. The fraternity leader approached the boy and booted him in the face, the toe of his dress shoe connecting with the young man's chin. The boy slumped forward, stunned.

"If I may continue," Magnus said, his tone irritated, "We will get to your second challenge as pledges shortly but first, I know you all must be hungry."

Sam looked up, as though they had been waiting for a signal, the other Brothers walked down the stairs, each one carrying a bowl and a spoon in his hands.

As the last Brother in the procession made to pass Magnus, the leader stopped him and whispered to him, pointing to Matt's body. Magnus took the bowl from the Brother and handed him a set of keys. Sam watched as the Brother went to Matt's body, unlocked it from the metal ring set into the wall and grabbing the corpse's wrists, began dragging it towards the staircase.

Matt's friend, who had seemed to have regained his senses, watched in horror.

"Where are you taking him? Don't take him away!"

Sam tore his gaze away from the young man and looked at Terry. His friend's grey eyes were wide, confused and frightened.

"Breakfast!" Magnus announced, once again raising his voice above the young man's.

Sam looked at Brother Titus who was positioned in front of him, and saw that he was holding a bowl of what, at one time might have been oatmeal. Cold, congealed, crusty, the slop had spots of grey mold showing.

Brother Titus scraped a spoonful of the gruel from the side of the bowl and shoved the spoon at Sam's mouth. He turned his head away- there was no way he was eating that.

Beside him, Terry, who had a spoon in his mouth, gagged and choked, his face practically green with nausea.

Brother Titus jammed the spoon into Sam's mouth forcefully. The young man recoiled at the taste of spoiled food and spat the mouthful out.

Brother Titus looked to Magnus and the fraternity leader moved forward.

Tilting his head, Magnus addressed Sam, "You're not hungry?"

"I'm not eating that shit," Sam growled.

He wondered if Brother Titus would simply shove the gruel down his throat but instead, he stood and backed away.

"Terry, are you okay?" Sam asked his friend.

"Why can't you just do what they tell you, Sam?"

They're drugging the food, Sam thought, just like last night.

Once the Brothers had finished feeding the pledges, the Brother who had dragged Matt away, collected the bowls and spoons and went back upstairs.

Magnus smiled at the boys.

"Now, for a very important part of the ritual," he told them, "You are about to receive your pledge badges."

Sam glanced at the other young men. He appeared to be the only one confused by Magnus' words; they had no clothes, how were they to wear a badge.

As though reading Sam's thoughts, Magnus pushed his sleeve up to reveal a series of six numbers inked into the skin of his forearm, just below the crook of his elbow.

Sam's stomach seemed to turn to ice at the sight of Magnus' tattoo. He knew of only two groups of people who could possibly have tattoos like that: victims of the Holocaust and victims of human trafficking.

Sam felt stupid for not realizing it before, as he watched Magnus pull his sleeve back down: the suspicious invite, the girls pressing them to drink and eat, the 'hazing' was all designed as a smokescreen to trick young men into letting down their guard and fall right into the trap.

Sam stared at Magnus, horrified. The man looked back at him, smiling widely and stepped up to Sam.

"You've finally got a glimpse of what is happening behind the curtain," Magnus chuckled, "I was wondering how long it would take you."

"Why are you doing this? You were once in this position, weren't you?" Sam asked, whispering.

Magnus crouched between Sam and Terry, leaning against the wall, speaking only to the young Winchester.

Magnus didn't smile, "I served my masters for several years before they realized my talents would better suited to other tasks. It was only by my own desire to survive that I persevered and am allowed the freedom I enjoy today. I had to work hard to gain my masters' trust but finally I was able to show them I could be useful to them in other ways. Yes, I was once in the very same situation as you are now, but I was a different person. I have changed. I know my masters' powers and am not foolish enough to disobey them."

Magnus paused so Sam could process what he was saying.

"You remind me of me, Sam," Magnus told him, "I saw it as soon as I met you."

"I'm nothing like you!" Sam snapped.

Magnus just smiled, "I once told myself that I would not cave, that I would not be broken but my masters wore me down and I was reborn. I recognize that there are those of us in the world that are meant to rule and those who are meant to serve. I simply had to be honest with myself which one I wanted to be. "

Magnus stood up just as the Brother who had left with the empty bowls returned, holding what Sam recognized as a homemade tattoo gun.

Magnus turned to them as though there had been no interruption.

"Let us begin," he clapped his hands once and smiled.

One of the Brothers uncuffed Matt's friend and led him forwards. Sam was that the boy no longer seemed upset by his friend's death and obediently gave his arm up to the Brother to tattoo.

Sam closed his eyes. He had to get out of here. He had to find some way to escape.

Opening his eyes, he calculated the distance between himself and the staircase, noticing where each of the Brothers was standing, and trying to decide if it was possible for him to outrun all of them when it was his turn to get tattooed. He wondered if the pantry door at the top of the staircase was closed and if he would be able to open it himself in time to break free. He knew he'd have to go through the kitchen and down a hallway to reach the front door- was most likely locked- to get outside.

"Hey, Sam," Terry spoke up and he turned to look at his friend.

"We have to get out of here," Sam hissed, "They are not a fraternity, Terry."

His friend peered at him quizzically.

"Sam," Magnus' voice startled Sam, "I will ask you not to upset your friend."

He ignored the blue-eyed man, "Listen, Terry, please, I don't know what they've given you but you have to believe me. These are not good people."

"Brother Augustus," Magnus called to one of the Brothers, "It appears that Sam needs some help keeping his mouth shut."

Sam glanced at the Brother but instead of coming towards him, he headed upstairs.

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked, warily.

"Don't worry," Magnus told him, "It will not be painful."

His words were of no comfort to Sam and he began to struggle again.

Brother Augustus was coming down the stairs, a ball gag dangling from one hand. Sam's eyes widened.

"Terry, please, you have to try and escape," Sam whispered frantically to his friend, "Get my duffel from my room. My brother's number is in it. Call him. Are you listening to me?"

The red-haired boy was looking at Sam with a stupid grin plastered on his face, clearly not paying attention to anything he was saying. Brother Augustus reached Sam, grabbed him by the hair and shoved the red, rubber ball into his mouth before securing the straps around the back of his head, tightly.

"You're going to get kicked out of the frat, Sam," Terry told him. Sam looked away from his friend.

Sam lowered his head, his mind reeling. His friend was in no condition to help him escape. Sam would have to try by himself. He didn't want to leave the others behind but he didn't think he had a choice. Whatever Magnus had given them; they didn't seem to want to listen to anyone but him. They didn't want to believe that this was anything but a fraternity hazing ritual.

I have to get out of here, Sam told himself, whatever it takes. I need to escape and get Dean and Dad. They'll help me; I know they will. Suddenly, Sam looked up, a realization dawning on him: his cell phone had been in the jeans the Brothers had taken away last night. If he didn't text Dean back soon his brother would get worried. Sam almost cried with relief. Even if he couldn't escape by himself, his brother and father would come. They'd find him and rescue him and Terry and the others.

Sam looked up as Brother Titus approached him. Glancing to his side, he saw Terry was being cuffed back into the ring in the wall beside him, the dark ink of the tattoo stark against the pale skin of his arm.

Brother Titus leaned over Sam, unlocking one of his cuffed hands from the metal ring. It took a second before the young man could lower his arms to his sides; his shoulders ached in protest and the pins and needles sensation as the blood flowed back into his hands painful. Instead of a hand on his elbow or under an arm, Brother Titus grabbed Sam's hair and yanked him onto his feet. Muscles stiff from sitting so long on the hard, cold floor, Sam staggered forwards to where Magnus and the tattooist were waiting, Brother Titus keeping his fingers knotted tightly in his hair.

Sam was forced back into a seated position and, releasing his hold on the young man's hair, Titus took a hold of his left arm. Sam tried to pry his arm loose but another Brother put a hand on his shoulder, holding him steady.

"Brother Clovis," Magnus said, "When you're ready to begin."

Sam didn't watch the tattoo take shape or look away- as the other boys did- but looked right at Magnus, his hazel eyes boring into the man's pale blue ones.

_SPN_

As soon as Dean woke up he checked his cell phone to see if his brother had texted him. He hadn't heard anything from Sam since last night and although he wasn't worried- Sam was an adult- he was a little hurt Sam hadn't let him know when he returned to his residence.

Oh well, Dean thought, as he picked out some clean clothes and stepped into the bathroom, John snoring away on the opposite bed; maybe he finally let loose and enjoyed himself.

Dean smiled as he brushed his teeth. Sam wasn't a lightweight when it came to alcohol, but compared to his brother and his father, Sam was nearly a teetotaler.

Once Dean was dressed and ready for the day, he paused to text his sibling:

_Morning Sunshine!_

_Let me know how last night went. _

_TTYL_

Stepping out of the bathroom, Dean went over to his father and pushed his shoulder, "Hey, Dad. Wake up, it's nearly eleven o'clock."

John opened his dark eyes and blinked blearily at his eldest son. Sitting up, he ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. He hadn't been happy when Sam left and had decided that a long, slow night with a bottle of Jack Daniels would help him cope with his absent son.

"Do you want me to go out and get something to eat?" Dean asked and John nodded, feeling as though he was going to have a slow start to the day.

He watched as Dean slid his feet into his boots and shrugged his jacket on, grabbing the keys to the Impala on the way out.

"Why don't you take a nice, cold shower?" Dean suggested before he closed the door.

John listened to the rumble of the car's engine fade away before he stood, groaning slightly as a sudden nausea gripped him. Shaking his head, he started towards the bathroom but paused, noticing Dean's phone sitting on his bed.

Reaching out to pick up the device, John had a sudden thought. Since Dean didn't lock his phone, it was nothing for his father to go to his Contacts List and open his text messages. He saw that Dean's latest text was one he'd sent to his brother, that very morning.

John felt a sudden rush of irrational anger flow through him as he read Dean's text. Sam had chosen to leave his family. He had wanted nothing more to do with hunting and here Dean was texting with him as though Sam was simply on vacation. John scrolled through the text history, learning about Sam's going to some fraternity party with some kid named Terry.

Closing the Contacts List, John put Dean's phone back on the bed and continued on his way to the bathroom, disgusted by the way his youngest son was able to so easily leave his family behind.

_SPN_

"You all did very well," Magnus praised the boys, looking at each of them in turn, "I am proud of you."

Sam looked over at Terry, his roommate grinning stupidly.

Magnus squinted down at his watch before looking back up.

"It seems we have time for another challenge before lunch," Magnus announced.

Sam swallowed painfully, wondering what the Brothers would force them to do next.

"This exercise will be easy for some, but not all of you," Magnus told them, again, looking at each in turn.

"You will all do as many push ups as you can."

Sam looked at Magnus. Push ups? There had to be a catch.

"This is simply a test of your physical strength and endurance," Magnus continued, "Nothing more."

Brother Clovis, who had disappeared upstairs while Magnus was speaking, returned, his tattoo gun now replaced by an electric cattle prod.

Sam looked to Brother Titus, who was approaching him and once again unlocked one wrist from the ring in the wall and then undid the straps on the gag, letting it fall to the ground. Sam closed his mouth, the muscles of his jaw aching. Glancing to his right, he saw that the others had been released as well.

"If you'll remain where you are," Magnus told them, "And get into position, we can start."

Sam lowered himself into the familiar position, keeping his eyes on the fraternity leader as he did so.

"How many push ups can you do?" Sam heard Terry whisper but he ignored him.

"Whenever your ready, you may begin," Magnus told them, his tone genial.

Sam took a steadying breath and started, automatically counting pushups as he did so, moving into the rhythm easily. He couldn't recall how many times he'd done pushups over the years, either with Dean or on his own, as part of John's training. Sometimes even making it a kind of contest between him and his older brother to see who could go the longest, do the most pushups or sit ups or jumping jacks or whatever else their father wanted them to do.

It didn't take long before Brother Clovis used the cattle prod. Glancing to his side, Sam saw that one of the other boys was starting to struggle. His face was bright red with exertion and he was panting.

Magnus turned his blue eyes on the boy and approached.

"Come on, Ben, you can't even do some pushups?"

Sam saw Ben shake his head.

"It's…. my… asthma…" the boy wheezed.

Magnus raised an eyebrow.

"Brother Clovis," he said, "Perhaps you can offer Ben here some encouragement?"

Sam looked away as the Brother approached Ben, a crackle of electricity sparking between the prongs of the cattle prod. Sam forced himself to stare at the dirt floor beneath him when he heard Ben yelp in pain.

"Don't give up so easily," Magnus said, "You don't want to get kicked out, do you?"

Sam didn't know how Ben responded but he heard the boy cry out in pain again.

"Sam," he heard his name and looked at Terry.

"Don't let that happen to me," his roommate said.

"I won't," Sam assured him and then stopped talking, saving his energy for pushups instead.

One by one the boys were forced to stop the exercise, despite Magnus words of encouragement and Brother Clovis' cattle prod until only Terry and Sam remained.

"Sam," Terry gasped, "I can't do anymore."

"You can," Sam gritted his teeth, "I know you can."

"I can't," Terry argued, his arms trembling.

Sam looked up to see Magnus watching and then looked at his friend.

"Don't let him win," Sam told Terry.

"I'm too tired," Terry lowered himself to the floor.

"One more," Sam encouraged, "C'mon Terry."

The boy shoved himself up again, arms threatening to collapse beneath him.

Sam shook his hair out of his eyes. Sweat was dripping down his face, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to stop but he forced himself to continue.

"One more, Terry," Sam told his friend, "C'mon, I know you can do it."

Terry managed to heave himself up again before sinking to the dirt floor, exhausted. Sam watched Magnus, wondering if he was going to use the cattle prod. He didn't. Instead Brother Clovis yanked Terry into a sitting position and cuffed his hands behind him again.

Now Sam was the only one left doing pushups, the eyes of the Brothers' on him. Magnus approached and crouched down in front of him.

"I'm truly impressed," he told Sam as the young man continued with the exercise.

"Fuck you," Sam snarled.

"You can stop now," Magnus told him and cautiously Sam did so, wary.

Magnus stood and wiped his hands together as though he was the one who had been doing all the hard work. Brother Titus stepped up to Sam and grabbed his arms, yanking them behind his back and once again cuffed him to the metal ring in the wall.

"Some of you did exceptionally well," Magnus told them, "Others were a bit of a disappointment."

"However," he continued, "There will be many more opportunities to show you are suitable to join Beta Theta Upsilon."

"But first," Magnus said, "I am sure you all must be hungry and thirsty."

"Terry," Sam whispered to his friend, "You okay?"

His roommate lifted his head and nodded.

Sam watched as the Brothers filed back upstairs and wondered what garbage they would be expected to choke down for lunch. Down the row, a soft mewling sound could be heard. Sam leaned forward as far as he could and saw the boy, Ben, was crying.

_SPN_

Dean pulled his cell phone from his pocket while John was filling the Impala with gas and quickly checked to see if his brother had messaged him back. Nothing.

Staring at the last text he'd sent to Sam, Dean wondered if he should send his brother another message. Certainly it wouldn't hurt. With a quick glance out the window and feeling as though he were doing something he shouldn't, Dean typed a quick message to his brother:

_Let me know how last night went as soon as you can. _

Dean shoved his phone back into his pocket when John opened the driver's side door.

"Ready to get some lunch?" John asked and Dean nodded.

Starting the Impala's engine, John pulled out of the gas station and started down the street, searching for a place to eat.

_SPN_

Sam was able to take one mouthful of water before the bucket was pulled away. Swallowing, Sam watched as Brother Linus held the bucket in front of Terry.

Tearing his gaze away from his friend, Sam instead turned his head to watch Magnus. The blue-eyed man seemed to feel Sam's gaze upon him; he turned and smiled.

Brother Titus approached Sam, once again holding a bowl. Sam glared at the man. He was not going to eat whatever was offered. He was not going to allow himself to be drugged like the others.

Peering into the bowl, Sam saw four raw eggs floating in the bottom.

Sam clenched his jaw and turned his face away from Titus. With one hand, the Brother reached out and grabbed Sam's face, pinching his nose closed painfully. Sam narrowed his eyes, determined to keep his mouth closed. Shaking his head, Sam tried to release Titus' hold but it was no use. Sam closed his eyes and bright spots started to spark across his vision. His lungs began to burn for want of air. Sam tightened his jaw, grinding his teeth together.

Brother Titus waited patiently. Sam would have to open his mouth to breathe eventually or risk passing out.

"Why must you make things difficult for yourself, Sam?" Magnus asked, standing behind Titus.

Finally Sam, unable to hold his breath any longer, gasped. As soon as he did so, Brother Titus poured the raw eggs into Sam's mouth and clapped a hand over his mouth to prevent him from spitting them out.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut as his stomach lurched, and he knew he would not be able to swallow the eggs. His stomach hitched again and he felt the burn of acid climb up his throat. Titus quickly drew his hand back and stepped out of the way as Sam leaned forward and vomited.

Groaning, Sam's stomach hitched again and he dry heaved, saliva dribbling from his mouth.

Sam leaned back, head resting against the wall and closed his eyes.

"Now that you've had something to eat and drink," Sam listened to Magnus speaking, wishing his hands were free so he could wipe the vomit and drool off his face, "Let us continue with the challenges."

Magnus casually walked over to Sam and bent down, picking up the ball gag, which was now coated in dirt and vomit.

"This next task is not one that everyone will participate in," Magnus continued and shoved the gag into Sam's mouth before securing the straps tightly behind his head, "Because not all of you participated in our little party last night."

Sam's gaze followed Magnus as he walked away, looking at the other boys.

"There is quite the mess upstairs," he continued, "And it seems only reasonable that you pledges should be the ones to clean it up."

Sam glanced at Terry from the corner of his eye; maybe his friend would be able to slip away and get help.

The red-haired boy however, appeared to be hanging onto Magnus' every word.

"Brothers, please release all the pledges except Sam and take them upstairs," the fraternity leader said and Sam watched as Terry followed the others up the staircase, Magnus bringing up the rear.

Before leaving the basement, Magnus turned off the lights and closed the door, leaving Sam alone and in darkness.

_SPN_

"Dean," John snapped at his eldest son as he glanced at his phone, thinking his Dad wasn't looking.

"What?" Dean asked innocently, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

"I know what you're doing," John told him, "Why don't you just leave your brother alone?"

Dean tried to hide his surprise, "How do you know I'm waiting on Sam?"

John gave him a look that said 'do you think I'm stupid?'

"Sam chose to leave us for some hoity-toity school," John reminded his eldest son, "Maybe he also chose he's too good to talk to his family too."

Dean shook his head, "Sam wouldn't do that. Not to me."

John shrugged, "Whatever you want to think, Dean. Just don't get upset when you don't hear back from your brother, that's all I'm saying."

Dean glared at his father and pulled his phone out again:

_Hey Sammy,_

_Hope your day is going well. Let me know what you've been up to when you get the chance._

John just shook his head in exasperation.

_SPN_

Alone in the dark, Sam struggled to pull his hands from the cuffs. Ignoring the pain as the metal cut into his wrists, he twisted his hands, trying to yank them free.

He didn't know how long he was by himself but by the time the basement light went back on, Sam's hands were trembling and he could feel blood drying on his skin.

Raising his head, he watched as Magnus led the others down the steps. It took him a moment to realize that Ben wasn't with them and he wondered what had happened to him.

Sam tried to catch Terry's eye but his friend wasn't looking at him, his gaze fixed onto Magnus' back.

As the Brothers chained the boys back up, the fraternity leader approached Sam.

"And what have you been up to while we've been gone?" Magnus asked, his piercing blue eyes seemed to be trying to bore into Sam's soul.

Sam swallowed and refused to look away.

Magnus leaned forward and smiled at the sight of blood on Sam's wrists. Putting his mouth close to Sam's ear, he whispered, "You'd have to break your thumbs to get out of those."

Sam stared at Magnus, "But then, that's the easiest part."

"You'd have to get up the stairs without making a sound," Magnus continued, "Get through the locked door, get through the house and outside, all without being caught."

"You're not the first one who's thought he could escape," Magnus whispered, once again his lips nearly touching Sam's ear, "You're not the first one to hold onto hope."

Sam's eyes narrowed.

"And you're not the first one who I've had the pleasure of breaking," Magnus said.

What about the others? Sam thought.

As though he could read Sam's thoughts, Magnus continued, "You're better than them, Sam. We're better than them. They came to me like lambs to the slaughter. They practically begged for this. Not you, you sensed the danger. You recognized me as a wolf in sheep's clothing. You recognized another wolf."

Sam struggled to pull his hands out from behind him, wanting nothing more than to punch Magnus' smug smile off his face.

The man just laughed and stood, looking at the captives.

"We are very nearly done for the day," he announced.

"Oh no," Terry muttered beside Sam.

"There is just one more thing that must be done," Magnus continued.

"Brother Darius, if you don't mind?" he addressed one of the Brothers who pulled a cell phone out of his pocket.

Darius walked over to the boy at the end of the line, held the phone out and there was a flash of light as the camera function was engaged.

Brother Darius moved onto the next boy and took his picture, and the next and the next, until he reached Terry and the light flashed, making Sam's roommate close his eyes, a grimace on his face.

Sam glared at the Brother as he pointed the cell phone at him and the flash went off.

"Excellent, Brother Darius, thank you," Magnus said as Darius handed the cell phone over.

"Now you can all rest," Magnus told the boys and led the way as the Brothers retreated back upstairs.

Sam lowered his head, closing his eyes against the darkness that once again engulfed the basement. He could hear the boys beside him breathing.

"I hope I'm doing a good job," Terry said, speaking in Sam's direction, "I really want to join the fraternity."

_SPN_

Magnus paused in the kitchen. Opening the phone's contact list, he scrolled down the short list to the one called 'Elle' and sent a quick message and attached the pictures of the boys Brother Darius had taken for approval. She was not Magnus' master but used him because he was skilled at capturing and breaking young people, usually young men, for the trade. Unlike some others, Magnus knew all too well how to gain his victims' trust and how to wear them down before they were sent to the next phase of their slavery. Although it was not necessary, slaves who had already been broken in were preferred when they reached their final destination. They were less likely to try to escape, less likely to fight back, and accept their new lives quietly.

Putting the phone on the island, which was now gleaming clean, Magnus rummaged in the refrigerator for a bottle of beer- another perk of his position- while he waited for Elle to reply.

_SPN_

John sighed when Dean pulled his phone out, momentarily ignoring the burger oozing melted cheese onto his plate.

"Will you put that away?"

Dean's eyes flicked up to him.

"Sam still hasn't texted me back," he told his Dad.

"Maybe he doesn't want to talk to you," John suggested, taking a bite of his own burger and wiping a hand across his mouth.

Dean shook his head, "Sam told me he'd text me."

"So what if he hasn't messaged you all day? He's probably busy," John said.

Dean sighed and set his phone down.

"I just thought he'd take a minute to let me know how he's doing," he muttered.

John just shrugged.

"You'll probably hear from him tomorrow," he told his son, "He's probably been nursing a hangover all day after that party."

Dean looked up at John sharply, "You read his texts?"

The elder Winchester didn't even try and deny it, "Of course I did. Sam decides to bugger off to college and you're still chatting with him as though nothing's happened. What else was I supposed to do?"

Dean glared at his father, "I thought you didn't want anything to do with Sam."

"I don't, but if this is going to affect your attention to hunting," John warned, "I'm going to put a stop to it."

Dean slid his phone off the table as though afraid his father was going to grab it.

Just then, their waitress approached, "How is everything here?"

"Fine," Dean growled a little too forcefully and the girl left quickly.

Dean didn't touch his phone again throughout dinner, all the while expecting to feel it vibrating in his pocket and the sound of 'Smoke on the Water' to start, only to be disappointed when it remained still and silent.

_SPN_

Magnus looked at the cell phone when it began to vibrate, nearly falling off the kitchen island before he grabbed it and answered the call.

"Only five? Magnus, you must be slipping," Elle's husky voice drawled.

"There were two others," Magnus told her, "Unfortunately they were not suitable candidates."

"And who made that decision?" Elle asked, "You?"

"You do not trust my judgment?" Magnus asked, offended.

"Watch your tone," Elle warned quietly.

"One overdosed and died," Magnus explained, backtracking, "And the other had asthma."

He heard Elle take a deep breath and waited.

"I see," she said, "Well, I suppose those things can't be helped."

Magnus said nothing.

"I took the liberty of sending out the pictures," Elle told him.

Magnus had expected that, as it was Elle's right.

"There are a number of buyers interested in the redhead," she told him.

Magnus nodded and made himself a mental note of that information.

"And the little Negro in the middle as well," Elle added.

Magnus wasn't surprised; many slave owners, especially Americans, liked to pretend that the South had won.

"This isn't your best haul," Elle continued, "But it's not bad."

Magnus smiled slightly.

"If I may be so bold," Magnus began, "What did you think of the last one?"

As though she had expected the question and had purposefully withheld mention of Sam, Elle asked, "You mean the one you have gagged?"

"Yes," Magnus replied patiently.

He could almost hear the smile in Elle's voice as she answered, "I sent the picture to your Master. And only him. He's very intrigued."

Magnus raised an eyebrow.

"Really?" he asked.

"You of all people should know of your Master's… appetites, Magnus," Elle chided.

He nodded, "I do."

"He was quite reluctant to promote you, don't you recall? But I insisted you were better suited to tasks outside the bedroom."

Magnus remembered.

"I know your Master normally goes through slaves quickly," Elle continued, "But he was very pleased with what he saw. He even told me that he may hang onto him for a while if he finds the company enjoyable."

"That is for him to decide," Magnus told Elle, letting her know that what his Master did to his other slaves did not matter to him.

"I trust you know what you need to do then?" Elle asked him.

"Yes," Magnus replied.

"Good," she said, "I will call you again in a few days to see how your progress is going and to see if the product is ready for shipment."

Elle ended the call without another word. Magnus set the phone back onto the island and took a long drink of beer from the bottle he'd retrieved from the fridge.

**Author's Note:**

**Special thanks to mandancie for editing this chapter. **

**Thanks to TweetyRulz, AmaraRae, reannablue, AlxM, only-some-loser, theclaysquid, Mimmi85, need2no and Guest for reviewing. **

**Please take a moment to leave a review and I will post again soon. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Day Two**

Magnus watched the rays of the sun creep across the kitchen island where he sat as he breakfasted. A cup of black coffee and a single buttered piece of toast were all he allowed himself. Sitting silent, unmoving, he may have been carved from stone.

_SPN_

Dean scowled at his cell phone screen. Sam still hadn't messaged him back, not so much as a 'howdy-do' and it was really starting to bug him. Maybe their Dad was right and Sam had decided he was too good for them now that he was going to Stanford.

Still, Dean only half-believed that and so, when John slipped out to grab some breakfast, he sent Sam another text.

_Sam, where are you? Text me, no, call me. CALL ME_

Dean waited for about five seconds to see if Sam would reply before he actually called his brother himself. He listened as the phone rang and rang and rang until it went to voicemail.

"Hey, this is Sam," Sam's prerecorded voice said, "I can't answer my phone right now but leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

"Sam," Dean said, "Where are you? What are you doing? I haven't heard from you. If… If you don't want to talk anymore I don't care but… just let me know you're still alive. Give me something. Please."

Dean ended the message and immediately felt stupid. Of course Sam wasn't ignoring him on purpose; he was probably busy with frosh week activities. Dean was certain he'd hear from his brother soon, Sam excited to tell him all the stuff he'd been doing, all the new people he'd met.

Dean told himself he was just overreacting. Sam was in California, not some warzone. The most dangerous thing that could happen to his brother was sunburn.

Shaking his head and telling himself not to look at his phone again until that evening- unless Sam called or texted, of course- Dean waited impatiently for his Dad to get back with their breakfast.

_SPN_

Magnus led the Brothers down the staircase, sending up a chorus of creaks and squeaks and groans. The boys blinked and squinted at them in the sudden light. Gazing at the captives, Magnus saw that, thankfully, they all appeared, if a little worse for wear, to be alert and in relatively good condition. He had been very displeased at the loss of two boys in one day and had hoped there would be no more.

Magnus' blue eyes fixed on the single black boy in the middle of the row as he spoke.

"I ain't doing this no more," he announced, "I want out. I don't want in any fraternity. Let me outta here."

Magnus smiled and approached the boy.

"I'm sorry, Jamal, your chance to leave has long since expired."

The boy's dark brown eyes widened, "Let me outta here! You can't keep me here! I want out! I ain't playing this game no more!"

Irritated by the boy's protests, Magnus reached out and backhanded him. Jamal quieted instantly, eyeing Magnus warily.

Magnus flicked his wrist, his hand stinging. He shouldn't have hit the boy, but he was making him mad. He saw that Jamal's lower lip was swelling and hoped that it would go down before the boy left here.

"Anyone else have any complaints?" Magnus asked the others. They all stared at him, wide-eyed, except for Sam who was glaring daggers.

"That's what I thought," Magnus continued, "You all had a long day yesterday and must be hungry."

_SPN_

It took a minute for Sam to close his mouth once Brother Titus had taken the gag out. His jaws ached but he ignored the pain. Sam's stomach cramped and he turned his face away from the spoonful of crusty oatmeal.

"Again Sam?" Magnus asked, tilting his head.

Brother Titus leaned forward slightly and Sam turned to face him. Sam smiled at the man and slammed his forehead into Titus' face.

The Brother dropped the bowl and spoon, splashing himself and Sam with moldy oatmeal, and grabbed his broken nose and swelling lips.

Sam leaned his head back, dazed, his forehead throbbing, blood dripping into his eyes.

Magnus stalked forward, shoving Titus out of the way as he did so and grabbed Sam's hair, yanking him forward.

"Now why would you do something stupid like that?" he asked Sam.

"That's for Matt and Ben and Jamal," Sam told him, blinking blood away as it streamed down the sides of his nose.

He expected Magnus to be mad. Instead, the blue-eyed man smiled at him, white teeth flashing.

"I knew you would be difficult to break," he told Sam, releasing his hair and patting it flat, "I just didn't think you would make it so that I was actually looked forward to it."

Sam frowned, wondering what Magnus was talking about. The man stood and looked to the other Brothers, who had all paused, watching Titus.

"That's enough," Magnus told them and they retreated, bowls in their hands, and then turned to Brother Titus, "Wipe your face."

Sam watched as Magnus led the Brother's upstairs. This time they left the light on, indicating that they would not be gone long.

"Why'd you do that?" Terry asked, "You got us all in trouble."

Sam didn't reply.

_SPN_

Don't look at your phone, don't look at your phone, don't look at your phone…

Dean reached out and turned the radio up, Metallica's 'Phantom Lord' thumping out of the Impala's speakers.

John allowed the music to play at a deafening level for about a minute before he turned it down.

"I need you to focus on this hunt, Dean," he told his eldest son, "Are you doing that?"

Dean nodded, "Of course I am!"

John glanced at him, "You sure?"

Dean glared, "This is my first hunt in a while without Sam. Cut me some slack, would you?"

John just shook his head.

"You need to stop worrying about Sam," John continued, "He sure as hell isn't worried about you."

Dean opened his mouth, wanting to tell his Dad off, but thought better of it and turned the music up again.

This time John didn't touch the volume control.

_SPN_

Sam couldn't help but smile when he saw Titus had two black eyes to go along with his busted nose and puffy lips.

"I wouldn't be so happy if I were you, Sam," Magnus told him. The blue-eyed man approached Sam and unlocked one of his wrists from the metal ring.

"Turn around," Magnus ordered.

"What?" Sam asked, confused.

"Face the wall!" Magnus snapped.

Sam glanced at Terry as he turned around, his friend just as bewildered as he was. Magnus threaded the chain for the handcuffs back through the metal ring and then snapped the cuff onto Sam's wrist once again.

Sam's heart rate began to pick up speed. He didn't know what Magnus intended to do to him but he knew whatever it was, wasn't going to be good.

"Brother Titus," Magnus spoke from behind Sam. The young man turning his head to peer over his shoulder and see what was happening, "I believe it's only fair for you to go first."

Sam heard a rustle of clothing; the sound of a zipper being pulled down and his heart seemed to stutter to a stop in his chest.

"No!" he protested, fighting to pull his hands free from the cuffs, "No! Don't!"

"Sam!" Terry cried beside him, eyes wide, expression horrified.

Titus grabbed the hair at the back of Sam's head and shoved his face at the wall. Sam let out a groan as his cheek scraped against the rough stone wall.

"Sam!" Terry shouted as his roommate cried out in pain.

The red-haired boy squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn't have to see what was happening to his friend, wishing his hands weren't bound so he could cover his ears and block out the sounds coming from right beside him. Terry felt his gorge rise as his friend's torture seemed to go on forever and he feared that he might be next.

"Oh God," Terry muttered to himself, "This isn't right, this isn't right, this isn't right…"

_SPN_

Dean broke the promise he'd made to himself and checked his phone as he and John sat down for lunch.

"What are you doing?" his father asked, peering at him from across the booth.

"I still haven't heard from Sam," Dean explained, "I've texted him, I've called him… but there's nothing. No word from him."

"I told you, Dean," John said, "He probably thinks he's too good for us now."

Dean shook his head, "You're wrong. Sammy wouldn't do that."

"Then what do you want to do?" John asked, picking up a French fry from his plate.

"I want to go to California and just check to make sure he's okay," Dean told his father.

"And what if he is?" John asked.

"Then I won't say anything else about it," Dean assured him, "I won't complain when Sam doesn't text me for days, okay? I'll shut up about it. But… I need to know. I just need to make sure he's all right."

John just shook his head in exasperation, "Fine, after we're finished with this hunt we'll go."

Dean frowned. He didn't want to wait any longer.

"But, what if-" he began to argue.

"Your brother is at college," John reminded him, "He's probably just swamped with homework or something. Here, now, we have people in real danger that we need to think about first. We get this job done and then we'll go to California."  
Dean wanted to argue, wanted to remind John that this was Sam they were talking about and that his safety should take precedence over the wellbeing of some strangers but he knew it would be a battle that he'd loose. Instead, he nodded, conceding.

"As soon as we're done," he told his Dad.

_SPN_

Terry didn't remember much about the past two days. He of course remembered arriving at Stanford, shaking his parents off after his father insisted on telling Terry how proud he was, and his mouth nearly smothered him to death with hugs and kisses, he remembered meeting Sam, thinking that the taller boy had been a bit of a nerd, but liking him instantly anyway. He remembered how they'd gone out; looking for a club or group they could join. He remembered getting invited to what looked like a very fancy fraternity- Beta Theta Upsilon- and convincing Sam to come with him to the party.

Terry even remembered arriving at the fraternity house, how Sam had insisted on being a stick in the mud about the whole thing. He remembered accepting a drink from some girl who was grinning like she couldn't be happier to be serving a bunch of underage boys. He remembered how it had burnt going down, how it tasted of turpentine but, wanting to seem cool, Terry readily drank a second when it was offered, and a third, wanting so badly to impress the older fraternity members.

After that, everything went hazy, his memories fragmented. Struggling to piece together the events, Terry only had a slight understanding of what had happened to him and Sam.

Now though, peering through the darkness, struggling to see his friend, sitting close enough for him to reach out and touch if his hands weren't cuffed, Terry knew something was very, very wrong.

"Sam," Terry called to his friend, tears pricking his eyes, "Sam, are you okay? Please, say something. Talk to me."

There was no response, no movement from his friend.

"Sam!" Terry cried, "Please, please say something! Anything!"

"He's dead," Jamal, sitting on Terry's other side suggested unhelpfully.

"He's not dead!" Terry snapped, "He's not!"

"He's dead, like that other kid… Matt," Jamal continued, "He's dead and we're gonna be dead too."

"Shut up!" Terry snapped.

Matt's friend, a boy named Evan, whimpered. Dylan, the final boy in the lineup, seemed to be panicking, "You saw what they did to him! You saw! They'll do that to us too! Oh God, they're gonna do that to us too!"

Terry closed his eyes, grinding his teeth, "SHUT THE HELL UP! ALL OF YOU!"

The others fell silent instantly and Terry leaned to his left side, as far as he dared, "Sam? Are you okay?"

Terry heard his friend breathing, slow and ragged, then, so quiet he almost couldn't hear it, Sam spoke, "Dean… Dean… Please…"

_W_

Terry looked up when the overhead lights turned on suddenly, squinting against the brightness for a moment before turning to Sam.

"Sam," he murmured, quietly. His friend sat with his cheek pressed against the wall, eyes half-closed, mouth open slightly. It almost looked as though someone had thrown red paint at the young man; there was so much blood. Sam's face was a crimson mask from the blood that had wept from the gash on his forehead; blood had dripped from his wrists and down his arms during his futile attempts to pull his hands free from the cuffs; the back of Sam's legs and the dirt beneath him stained red.

Tears pricked Terry's eyes, "Sam."

His friend lifted his head ever so slightly at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

"It's okay," Terry whispered, "I won't let them hurt you again."

Which was a stupid thing to say, what the hell was he supposed to do, handcuffed to the wall? There was nothing he could do to prevent Magnus and the others from raping Sam again.

Sam peered over his shoulder, one side of his face scraped and raw-looking, his gaze fearful.

Terry looked at Magnus as the man began speaking.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that," he said, not sounding sorry at all, "Perhaps now we will have no more upsets going forward."

"What the hell are you doing to us?" Terry, steeling himself, trying to be brave, for Sam and the others, asked, "What the hell is this? It's not a fraternity isn't it?"

Magnus turned to look at Terry, tilting his head, "Have you been talking with Sam?"

Terry glanced at his friend.

"No," Terry replied, "I'm just not as stupid as you think I am."

Magnus raised an eyebrow and approached Sam anyway. The young man whimpered and cringed away from the blue-eyed man.

"Don't hurt him!" Terry begged, "He didn't say anything to me!"

Magnus, however, reached out and patted Sam's head like a dog before pushing his face into the wall.

"Why do you care what happens to him?" Magnus asked Terry, "You barely know him. I'd be more concerned what was going to happen to _me_."

Terry swallowed painfully, "You can't do that to people and get away with it."

Magnus chuckled, "Who is there to stop me? Please, tell me."

Terry didn't say anything. He looked over at Sam helplessly.

"If I can continue with no more interruptions," Magnus said, eyeing Terry. The boy looked away. He didn't want what had happened to Sam to happen to him too.

"Since breakfast was so rudely interrupted, you all must be starving," Magnus continued, and Terry warily watched one of the Brothers approaching him with a bowl.

"Afterwards, we can continue with the challenges," Magnus told them.

Terry glared at the blue-eyed man who continued to act as though this was some sort of fraternity hazing ritual when it clearly was something much, much worse.

Seeing that the Brother standing in front of him had another bowl of raw eggs for him to choke down, Terry closed his eyes for a moment, telling himself he could get through this.

Glancing over at Sam, he noticed no one was bothering to give him anything to eat.

_SPN_

"Dean," John tapped on the passenger's side window of the Impala, peering at his eldest son sitting with his phone in his hands.

"Dean!" John called his son's name, louder, getting the impression he was being ignored.

Looking up, his boy rolled down the window.

"Put your phone away and help me," John ordered.

"You don't need my help," Dean argued, "You're just interviewing witnesses."

"You told me you would focus on this hunt," John reminded him, "Now leave your phone and come with me."

Dean sighed and set his phone down on the dash, unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door.

"I told you, once we're finished here we'll go to California," John growled, "So, the faster we get this over with, the faster we can go see your brother."

Dean straightened his suit jacket and glared at his father for a moment. He wished John believed him when he said he felt as though something was wrong and Sam wasn't just ignoring his messages. Sam had told Dean he would keep in contact with him, so for him to suddenly stop texting sent up red flags.

"C'mon," John said and put a hand on his son's shoulder, squeezing tightly.

Dean arranged his expression into a professional moue and followed John to the witness' house.

_SPN_

Terry listened to Magnus, hanging on the older man's every word. He wanted to do everything right and join the fraternity.

"Terry," a voice beside him murmured and the boy glanced over at his roommate.

He didn't think Sam was going to get accepted into the fraternity; he kept refusing to do the challenges and getting into trouble.

Terry, irritated that his roommate was trying to distract him, shushed him, "Stop it, Sam, I'm trying to listen."

His roommate didn't speak again.

_SPN_

Sam startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Magnus was going to hurt him again!

But, looking up, his heart skipped a beat. It was Dean! His brother was peering down at him, brow furrowed in concern.

"You… You found me," Sam whispered, tears forming in his eyes.

"We did, Sammy," Dean replied, shrugging out of his jacket, "Let's get you out of here."

Sam tears overflowed when his brother draped his leather jacket over his shoulders, still warm from his sibling's body heat.

"I didn't think you'd find me," Sam choked out.

"Shhh," Dean murmured, "It's okay now."

"DEAN!" a familiar, gruff voice called from upstairs and both brothers looked up.

"I have to go help Dad," Dean said and turned away.

"No, Dean, don't leave me!" Sam cried suddenly, terrified he wasn't going to see his brother again, "Stay with me!"

But Dean didn't listen, he crossed the basement and hurried up the stairs, gun drawn.

"Dean!" Sam called out as gunshots sounded from upstairs, tugging uselessly at his handcuffs, "Dean! Come back!"

_W_

Sam startled awake, squinting in the darkness, his brother's name on his tongue.

"Sam," Terry's voice spoke to him from the blackness, "Would you shut up? I'm trying to sleep!"

Sam didn't answer the other boy. A dream, it had just been a dream. Dean still didn't know where he was, no one was going to come save him, he was still trapped.

Sam felt tears well up in his eyes, real tears now, and let them overflow.

**Author's Note:**

**Special thanks to mandancie for editing this chapter.**

**Thanks to only-some-loser, AmaraRae, elliereynolds777, AlxM, bumblebeecas, TweetyRulz, LotRia, whatnosheep and BatmanLeBu for reviewing. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Day Three**

Dean, as soon as he woke up, locked himself in the motel bathroom and dialed his brother's number. He listened impatiently to Sam's voice asking him to leave a message before he did just that:

"Sam," Dean said, trying to keep his voice neutral, "I don't know what's keeping you from messaging me but you better have one hell of a good excuse when we get to California."

Dean paused for a moment as though expecting his brother to swear out loud once he heard this, "That's right. Dad and I are coming to Stanford to see what's up. As soon as we're finished here, we're coming up there and if you are just being a little shit and not messaging me, I'm going to kick your ass."

Dean paused when he heard a knock on the door.

"Dean, what are you doing in there?" John's voice came from the other side of the flimsy wood door.

Dean ended his message and shoved his phone into his pocket. He reached down and flushed the toilet, "Gimme a minute, would you!"

Next, he turned the water on and stood, peering into the mirror, until he gauged enough time had passed and the turned off the tap and opened the door. His Dad was standing right outside.

"Now I can't drop a deuce on my own?" Dean grumbled.

"I heard you talking in there," John told him, "And I doubt you were chatting to yourself."

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "I was calling Sammy."

"Dean, I said-" John began but his son interrupted.

"I know you said we'd go see him once we were done here," Dean said, "But I just wanted to see…"

Dean shook his head. John's expression softened.

"You really are worried about him, aren't you?"

Dean nodded, "I know you don't think I should be but… this is Sammy we're talking about. You know how trouble always seems to find him."

John sighed, "You're right, Dean. It's just…"

He paused, not wanting to show weakness in front of his son.

"As soon as we're finished up here we'll go to California," he reminded his son; then, changing the subject, asked if Dean wanted to pick them up some breakfast.

"Sure," Dean muttered, "I can do that."

_SPN_

Maybe they're not coming; the thought slithered, unwelcome, into Sam Winchester's brain. Maybe his brother and father thought he was ignoring them on purpose. Maybe they that he had changed now that he was in college. Maybe they didn't want anything to do with him now that he was no longer interested in hunting.

"Dean," Sam whimpered, his forehead resting on his forearm, "Dean, please… I need you… please…"

"Sam," Terry's voice spoke from beside him but he ignored it.

He didn't want Terry. He wanted his brother.

Sam tried to shift into a different position, whimpering when the cuffs bit into his wrists and he felt hot blood began to trickle down his arms. His legs had gone numb from resting his weight on them but when he tried to move, sharp pins and needles forced him to stop.

Dean wasn't coming. Dean wasn't coming. Dean wasn't coming.

Sam's eyes stung and then overflowed, tears dripping down his face. What was the point in trying to be strong when nothing good would come of it? No one cared if he rebelled and in the end he only ended up getting hurt because of it.

Sam closed his eyes and wiped his face against his arm, sucking in shaky breath of air. Leaning his head forward, he pressed his eyes against his fists until bright lights flashed behind his closed lids.

_SPN_

Dean scanned the cemetery grounds as John dug his shovel into the dirt of the grave. It was early morning, the sun still rising in the east, a dewy mist clinging to everything, birds chirruping in the trees. The cemetery was old unused, headstone crumbling or missing altogether, the lawn overgrown and full of weeds, dandelions wavy in the breeze. A large billboard in the center of the cemetery announced that it would soon become a shopping mall, disrupting the final resting place of over a hundred bodies.

They couldn't of course, stop the construction of the shopping mall, but they could put an end to the ghosts maiming and killing the workers who were just trying to do their jobs.

Yes, Dean thought, of course it would be more than one ghost, just to make things difficult.

The restless spirits had not been pleased to find their plots were going to be dug up and moved a few hundred yards down the road to a new cemetery. Dean supposed he couldn't blame them for being pissed off but his job was not to be a mediator between the living and the dead. His job was to salt and burn dangerous ghosts.

"Sorry about this," Dean paused and glanced at the worn grave he was standing beside, "Ethel, but you can't go around ganking guys just trying to make a living."

John glanced at his son, his expression confused.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Just keep an eye out for any ghosts," John reminded him.

Dean sighed and laid his finger on the trigger of the shotgun he was holding, loaded with rock salt instead of buckshot.

_SPN_

"I believe we are ahead of schedule," Magnus told Elle. He knew she had planned on calling back later in the week but he took it upon himself to contact her.

"Excellent," she commented, sounding pleased.

"They should be ready by tomorrow morning," Magnus informed her.

"Even better," Elle said positively, "Tell me, why did I even doubt you?"

Magnus couldn't help but smile.

"Now," she continued, her tone taking on a serious note, "What about the last one? I spoke with your Master and he was very anxious to obtain him."

"I understand," Magnus told her, "But he is very spirited and-"

"You're not becoming attached, now are you?" Elle interrupted with a chuckle, "Those big hazel eyes aren't giving you second thoughts?"

Magnus shook his head, biting down a sudden flare of anger, he answered, "Of course not. He means nothing to me."

"Good," she said, "You had me worried for a moment."

"I assure you the only person I am concerned with is myself."

"As you should be," Elle told him, "You do not want to displease me or your Master."

Magnus paused for a moment, "No, I do not."

The woman ended the call without another word and Magnus slumped a little where he sat at the kitchen island.

_SPN_

Dean reached up a hand and John grabbed his wrist, helping him climb up out of the open grave.

Dean watched as John sloshed gasoline from a red container into the hole before striking a match and throwing it in, the skeletal remains inside igniting with a muffled _wumph _sound.

"How many more of these assholes do we have to dig up?" Dean asked, wiping his sleeve across his forehead.

John pulled a paper from his jacket pocket- his notes- and glanced at it momentarily.

"Three," he said.

Dean sighed loudly, "Why couldn't they all be in the same grave?"

"C'mon," John ignored him, "We're almost finished."

Dean picked up the shovel and followed his father towards the next grave.

_SPN_

Sam lifted his head and looked over his shoulder when the lights came on.

"Are you okay?" Terry whispered beside him but he ignored the other boy.

From the corner of his eye, Sam watched as Magnus came downstairs, followed by the Brothers, once again carrying bowls that surely contained days-old oatmeal.

Magnus stopped in front of the boys and clapped his hands together, "We are so close to achieving our goal."

No one said anything.

Magnus tilted his head, "You should all be happy. We are very nearly finished."

Again, no one replied. Then, very quietly, Dylan, whispered, "What's going to happen to us?"

Magnus acted as though he hadn't heard the question.

"Let's break the fast, shall we?"

Sam looked up as Brother Titus stopped in front of him, scowling. Sam turned his head to face the wall again. He didn't want to eat the oatmeal; not only was it rotten but it was also drugged. But he was starving. He was weak with hunger and knew that, whatever was going to happen to him in the future, he needed to keep his strength up. Telling himself he'd only eat a little, Sam turned to look over his shoulder. If Brother Titus was surprised by Sam's compliance, he didn't show it. He just shoved a spoonful of moldy oatmeal into Sam's mouth.

Sam closed his eyes and forced himself to swallow, not even bothering to chew. Managing to get the first mouthful down, Sam looked at Titus again. A second spoonful of crusty, moldy oats was shoved into Sam's mouth.

Magnus wandered over, hands clasped behind his back.

"Sam, I'm glad to see you eating something," he said, smiling.

Sam narrowed his eyes and turned his face when Titus tried to give him a third spoonful of oatmeal.

"Sam," Magnus said in a warning tone.

"You're not drugging me," he told Magnus.

The blue-eyed man unclasped his hands from behind his back and sighed. He stepped close to Sam and bent down, hands on his knees.

"You know, it would be a lot easier for you," he told Sam, sounding almost as though he cared about him.

"Your friends aren't going to remember much of this," he swept a hand towards Terry and the others, "It will all just be a bad dream."

Sam looked away from Magnus.

"Are you sure you will eat no more?" Magnus asked, "You must be famished."

Sam turned his face away and Magnus straightened, brushing his pants off as though he had touched something dirty.

Magnus watched as the other boys were fed, not even looking at Sam. Once they were finished, Matt's friend, Evan spoke up, "Are we going to do more challenges?"

The blue-eyed man smiled at him, shaking his head, "No, I believe you are nearly ready."

The others looked at one another, seemingly happy about their progress.

"So we're in the fraternity?" Terry asked.

"Patience," Magnus chided gently, "Patience. Tomorrow you will leave here to start your new lives."

Sam's heart skipped a beat and his hands started to tremble.

"Most of you," Magnus continued, "Have done as I asked without question, without hesitation. However, one among you continues to besmirch the reputation of this fraternity, besmirch my reputation."

Sam stared at Magnus, fearful.

"Therefore, he must be punished," Magnus told them, "Something that saddens me greatly."

He looked at the others, a frown tugging at his lips, before turning to Sam.

"What are you going to do to me?" Sam asked, cringing away from the blue-eyed man.

Magnus stepped close to Sam and put a hand on his head, speaking into his ear, "I am not going to touch you. Your friends, however, will."

Sam stared at Magnus, eyes wide, disbelieving. He tugged at the handcuffs; desperately trying to free himself even though he knew it was useless.

"It wouldn't have to be like this, Sam," Magnus chided, "But you insist on fighting."

"Brothers," Magnus looked up, "If you'll release the others."

Sam watched helplessly as the Brothers uncuffed Terry and the three other boys and shepherded them forward. Magnus stepped back to stand in between Brothers Clovis and Linus.

Terry looked at Sam and then turned to Magnus.

"What do you want us to do?" he asked the blue-eyed man.

Magnus leaned forward and whispered in Terry's ear. The redheaded boy nodded, looked at Sam and stepped forward.

"Terry, please, don't-" Sam's head snapped back when the boy's fist connected with his mouth.

Spitting blood, Sam tried to cover his face as the redhead punched him in the head. Curling in on himself, Sam cried out in pain as the other boys followed Terry's lead, striking him in the face, the head, the back, anywhere they could reach. Magnus and the Brothers looking on.

**Author's Note:**

**Special thanks to mandancie for editing this chapter. **

**Thanks to bumblebeecas, AlxM, bingos-gal, BatmanLeBu, only-some-loser, TXKimsonFan, AmaraRae, elliereynolds777, TweetyRulz, blackgem17, and islefallenangel for reviewing. **

**Please take a moment to leave a review and I'll post another chapter soon. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Day Four**

Dean Winchester was torn between anger at and worry for his younger brother. As soon as he and John had finished at the graveyard, once the shovel and guns had been locked in the trunk he'd insisted they stop at the motel to grab their stuff and head out to California. John, perhaps sensing his eldest son's urgency, hadn't argued and quickly gathered his belongings from the room before checking out.

Dean insisted on driving first so John, sitting in the front passenger's side of his beloved Chevy Impala watched as the speedometer climbed higher and higher.

"Dean, you need to calm down," John advised.

He son glanced at him quickly before looking at the road again.

"I know you're scared but you won't do anyone any good if you get pulled over," John reminded him and reluctantly Dean lowered his speed.

"You think I'm crazy, don't you?" he asked John.

"Of course I don't think that," his father replied, "I think that maybe, you're just blowing things out of proportion."

Dean didn't say anything so John continued.

"You know you're brother's always done things his own way, always been headstrong," John reminded him.

"Sam," Dean suddenly growled, "His name is Sam."

John looked at Dean, confused, "What?"

Dean looked at him, "You haven't said his name since he left, or haven't you noticed? It's always 'your brother' now when you talk about Sam."

John stared at Dean, not sure how to reply.

"I know something isn't right," Dean continued, "Sam told me he'd keep in contact and for him to just stop texting… to not answer my calls, with no explanation… I just know he wouldn't do that."

John sighed but didn't reply. What could he say? He was sure his youngest son had a perfectly reasonable excuse as to why he wasn't talking to Dean anymore and that they were heading to California for nothing.

He knew that trouble somehow always seemed to find his youngest son but really, in college? How much trouble could Sam get into? Cheating on exams? Getting in fights with his roommate? Drinking too much? John shook his head and stared out the side window, telling himself that Dean was wrong and that Sam was fine.

_SPN_

Sam opened his eyes fearfully when the basement lights came on. Turning his head to look over his shoulder, he watched Magnus and the others coming down the stairs, the blue-eyed man smiling.

Sam looked away as Magnus approached; instead he stared at the wall in front of him.

"Congratulations," Magnus' voice spoke from behind Sam, "Congratulations."

Sam hunched his shoulders, trying to make himself smaller.

"You've passed the tests, completed the challenges, obeyed me and the other Brothers and now you will be rewarded," Magnus continued.

"Can we get out of these handcuffs now?" Terry's voice asked from beside Sam.

"Momentarily," Magnus replied, "We still have some last-minute chores before you are released."

Sam held his breath, waiting to hear what the blue-eyed man had planned for them next.

"You cannot go anywhere without first having something to eat," Magus told them.

Sam swallowed thickly at the thought of having to eat more old oatmeal. From the corner of his eye, he watched the Brothers step up to the other boys so they could feed them the moldy oatmeal. Magnus himself approached Sam, still smiling. He flinched when the blue-eyed man put a hand on his head.

"I trust that we will have no more problems?" Magnus asked, looking down at Sam.

The young man lowered his gaze; he shook his head.

"Excellent," the blue-eyed man crowed, patting Sam's head, "I'm happy that you've come to see the futility of fighting. Disobedience will only serve to make your life more miserable."

Sam said nothing but felt hot tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Magnus moved away from the young man to stand before the captives. None of the Brothers approached to feed Sam.

"Now that you have eaten," Magnus told the others, "It is time to get dressed."

Sam watched in silence as Magnus and the Brothers headed back upstairs, leaving the boys alone.

Terry turned his head to look at Sam, "Are you okay? Sam? Sam, are you all right?"

Sam refused to look at Terry or the others, keeping his gaze, as best he could, on the staircase.

The Brothers were not gone long when they returned, Magnus leading, followed close behind by Titus who was holding a pile of clothing in his arm that Sam recognized as the clothes he and the other boys had been wearing the night of the party. Magnus approached each in turn and unlocked his handcuffs. He stepped up to Sam but did not release him.

"If you'll please find your clothing and dress," Magnus told the boys and they hurried to the pile of clothes and began digging it through it for their belongings.

Sam dared to look up at Magnus. Without much conviction, he tugged at the handcuffs still chaining him to the wall.

"In only a few minutes your friends will leave here," Magnus told him, his blue eyes sparkling, "And my job will be complete."

"You however," Magnus continued, reaching out to put a hand out to cup Sam's cheek, "Shall remain here for a time yet."

Sam turned his head away. The blue-eyed man moved his hand, gripping the hair at the side of Sam's head tightly.

"Don't be like that," Magnus chided, whispering in Sam's ear, "You only have yourself to blame."

Magnus released his hold on Sam and straightened up, tilting his head at the others who had found and donned their clothing.

"Brother Darius," Magnus said, "If you'll collect Sam's belongings for later."

Sam turned his head as far as he could but Magnus ushered the other boys toward the staircase and out of his line of sight. Sam listened to their footfalls as they climbed the staircase until the light was turned out and the door closed, leaving him alone and in darkness.

Sam hung his head, eyes closed. He wanted his brother; he needed his brother. Even though it was absurd, he wished Dean were with him, to comfort him and tell him everything was going to be okay. The thought that he would never see his brother again was just too devastating to fathom.

"Dean," Sam whimpered, as though he could summon his sibling simply by saying his name, "Dean… Please… Please… Dean…"

_SPN_

"Do you know where Sam is staying?" John asked his son, now driving the Impala as the crossed the city limits and entered Palo Alto, California.

"Branner Hall," Dean replied. He had taken his phone out and was texting his brother… or trying to. Every time he sent a text he received a 'delivery failed' message:

_Sam, we're in Palo Alto. We're coming to Stanford. Text me as soon as you see this!_

And:

_What's wrong with your phone?_

Then:

_You know what, call me. CALL ME!_

Finally:

_I swear to God I am going to kick your ass. _

Sighing in frustration, Dean stared out the window as they drove closer and closer to the university. He was restless, anxious. He could hardly sit still for the adrenaline already coursing through his veins. He knew his Dad didn't think Sam was in trouble, that he thought Sam was just ignoring them now that he was some college-boy but Dean didn't buy it. Sam had been so excited to tell him about his roommate and that stupid party they were going to at the beginning of the week and now… nothing. The line had gone completely dead and that concerned Dean. He was sure his brother would have bored him will all the crap going on in his classes but no, there was only silence, no mater how many times Dean called or texted.

John and Dean had decided to check Sam's student residence first and see if he was there- or if he wasn't maybe someone who knew where to find him- before splitting up and spreading out their search. Dean had found a map of the campus online and printed it so they wouldn't have to drive around aimlessly. He looked up now as they drove onto the university grounds, students walking down the sidewalks, heading to class or whatever, even this early in the morning; it was just after eight AM.

"Turn right here," Dean told John, glancing at the map.

John did as his son instructed before peering at him curiously.

"What?" Dean asked, looking up.

"Do you… I mean," John cleared his throat and paused as Dean spoke again, "Turn left."

"Did you ever think about going to college?" John asked his eldest son.

Dean stared at him, "No, at least not for a long time."

"So you did want to go, at one point?" John asked.

Dean shrugged, "Keep going straight."

"When I was a kid," he admitted, "I wanted to be a firefighter."

John looked at his son, shocked, "You never told me that."

"It was a long time ago," Dean told him, "It doesn't matter now. I'm a hunter."

John didn't know what to say and Dean didn't speak either. He looked up from his map, "There it is. Branner Hall."

John peered out the windshield to see the large, white, Mission-style building looming ahead of them.

"Did Sam ever tell you what room he was in or anything?" John asked as he found the parking lot for the residence and pulled into an empty space.

Dean shook his head, folding up the map and shoving it into his pocket.

"Do you know how we're going to find his room?" Dean asked and John pulled the key from the Impala's ignition.

"Just follow my lead," his father told him, "And keep your phone in your pocket."

John exited the vehicle and stretched. They had been driving all night without rest and he was exhausted and sore. Sometimes he tended to forget he wasn't as young as he used to be. Unzipping his jacket against the warmth of the morning, but leaving it on, John pocketed his car keys and approached the residence, Dean following beside him.

John stepped through the door held open for him by a young woman with curly blonde hair and barely noticed the interior of the building as he approached the front desk. Dean, standing beside him, took a moment to eye the clean, bright lobby that somehow looked both professional and welcoming.

"Can I help you?" a young man of Asian descent sitting behind the desk asked the Winchesters.

"Yes," John smiled at the young man, "We're here to visit my son, Samuel Winchester, but-"

John paused and chuckled, "He forgot to tell us which dorm was his and his brother didn't bring his phone with him, did you Dean?"

Dean looked at John, looked at the student behind the desk and shrugged.

"Okay," the boy behind the desk nodded, "His name is Samuel Winchester?"

"That's right. He's expecting us," John told him. The boy peered at the computer behind the desk, typed on the keys and then looked up at them.

"He's on the second floor," he told them, "Room forty-two."

"Thanks so much," John smiled and, taking hold of Dean's arm, began steering him towards the elevators.

"That was incredibly easy," Dean muttered to his father.

John shrugged and pressed the button to summon the elevator. Once the lift opened, expelling a giggling group of freshmen girls, the Winchesters stepped inside and headed up to the second floor.

Dean pulled his phone from his pocket to check it and saw that he had still received no text messages or missed calls from Sam.

"What do we do if he's not there?" Dean asked.

The elevator came to a halt, shaking slightly and opened onto a long hallway. John and Dean stepped out and glanced around; trying to figure out the direction they wanted to go in.

"Then we start asking questions," John started down the hall, "Start looking around."

Dean nodded, hoping that they would not have to do that.

They reached room number two-twelve and paused. John reached out and rapped his knuckles against the wooden door loudly. They waited for a minute before John pulled out his wallet, slipping a fake ID from the slot and pressed it into the narrow space between the door and the doorjamb.

Dean casually leaned against the wall, blocking what John was doing from view should anyone come down the hallway.

It didn't take long before John had the door unlocked and had swung it open. Quickly he and Dean slipped inside and closed the door tightly.

John turned around and peered around the room, recognizing none of the items sitting out as belonging to his youngest son.

"I think this is Sam's roommate's stuff," Dean told his father and crossed the room to a second wooden door, pushing it open cautiously.

This room was empty but for the furniture. Dean glanced around and opened a drawer, revealing a collection of his brother's t-shirts.

"I found Sam's stuff," Dean called to John, "But it doesn't look like any of its been touched since he put it away."

John was looking through the items that belonged to Sam's roommate.

"I don't think Sam's been here in a few days," Dean added. John looked up to see Dean had his brother's duffle bag and was opening drawers and cupboards, the closet, to shove Sam's belongings inside.

John looked down and opened the top drawer of the computer desk, frowning at a black piece of paper with silver writing on it. Reaching in, he lifted the thick card paper and read the words printed on it.

"This must be what Sam was telling you about," John commented.

"What?" Dean asked. He had gathered all his brother's possessions and approached John, looking at the paper in his hands, "What's that?"

"An invite to a fraternity called Beta Theta Upsilon," John replied and showed him.

"That was the name of the fraternity Sam was at," Dean told his Dad.

"Did Sam tell you when he got back?" John asked.

Dean frowned, "I don't… No, he didn't. He wanted to leave but he didn't want to go without his roommate."

Glancing down at the paper in his father's hand, Dean saw an address written at the bottom.

"You think some fraternity jerks have something to do with Sam not answering his phone?" Now Dean was the one who sounded skeptical.

"Even if they aren't, they may know something that could help," John explained his thinking, "It's as good as any place to start."

Dena nodded, slipping the strap of his brother's bag over his shoulder. John put the invite into his pocket and exited the dorm, remembering to close the door behind him.

The Winchesters quietly and quickly walked down the hallway, both wondering if the youngest member of their family was in more danger than they had initially thought.

They rode the elevator down to the first floor, saying nothing but, as they were passing the front desk, John paused, "Can you tell me anything about the fraternity Beta Theta Upsilon?"

The young man who had helped them earlier looked up, his brow furrowed, "What was that?"

"Beta Theta Upsilon," John repeated.

"I don't think we have a fraternity on campus by that name," the young man told him.

Dean's blood suddenly ran cold in his veins. He reached out and grabbed his father's arm, "C'mon Dad."

John stepped away from the desk and Dean could see by the look on his face that he was thinking the same thing: something was very, very wrong and whatever it was, the fraternity was a part of it.

Dean urged himself not to run to the Impala as soon as he was outside. He climbed into the passenger's side and tossed his brother's duffle onto the floor of the backseat.

"What do you think?" Dean asked as John turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the parking space.

"I think we have to get to that frat house as quickly as possible," John growled. He pressed his foot down on the gas too hard and the Impala jerked out of the parking lot, nearly colliding with a convertible full of boys around Dean's age who swore at the hunter and gave him the middle finger as they drove past.

Dean didn't know what kind of trouble his brother had gotten himself into but he agreed with his father that having an invite to a fraternity that, for all intents and purposes was not affiliated with Stanford was extremely suspicious. Didn't fraternities and sororities have a set of rules to operate? He didn't think anyone could start a frat house without the college knowing.

Dean glanced at his father. John's expression was set, his knuckles white where they gripped the steering wheel.

Don't worry Sammy, Dean thought, we're coming to get you.

_SPN_

Sam stared into the darkness, his heart pounding in his chest, his breathing too shallow, too fast. Tears squeezed out from Sam's eyes and dripped down his face. He was trapped, unable to escape and now utterly alone among enemies. A feeling of claustrophobia descended and Sam whimpered, terrified and helpless.

_W_

Sam lifted his head, his eyes scanning the dark fearfully at the sound of footfalls moving rapidly across the floor above, followed by a heavy crash. Fear clutched at the young man's heart. Magnus was back and was going to hurt him again. A sob escaped the young man and he quickly looked away when the door at the top of the stairs opened.

_SPN_

John parked the Impala several doors down from the supposed fraternity house. He had driven past it slowly, attempting to look like someone searching for an address, to get the first look at what he and Dean would be up against.

The house itself seemed quite innocuous. It had a large front porch with a bench swing, flowerbeds in the front yard in need of water, a lawn that had gone weeks without being mown. There was one vehicle in the driveway; a silver van the type soccer moms were fond of.

"What do you think?" Dean asked as they parked the car down the street.

"We'll grab guns," John told him, "Just to be on the safe side, something small, and make sure the place empty before we go in."

"What if it's not empty?" Dean asked, his hand on the passenger's side door handle.

"Depending on how many are in there," John told him, "We can go in now. But wait for my signal. Don't do anything until I say so."

Dean nodded and opened the door. He met John at the rear of the car as his father lifted the lid of the trunk and, looking around to make sure no one was watching, the hidden bottom to reveal their cache of weapons. He quickly passed Dean a handgun before grabbing one for himself, checking it was loaded, before slipping it into the waistband of his jeans, at the back so his jacket covered it.

Closing the trunk, John glanced at his eldest son, "Okay, let's go."

They headed down the sidewalk, moving slowly, casually so as not to draw attention to themselves they approached the fraternity house. John motioned to Dean to go around the back while he took the front.

Crouched so as not to be seen by anyone looking through the windows, John climbed the porch and peered inside the house. The first window offered a view of a living room, a rather mundane-looking area that didn't look suspicious in the slightest, in fact, in John's opinion, it looked as though it had come from a magazine. The other thing John noticed about the living room was that it was empty; no one was inside. He crossed the front door and peered into the next window that looked into a bedroom, again, decorated as though for a photo shoot.

He carefully continued around the porch before sliding underneath the railing and met Dean around back.

"See anyone?" Dean asked and John shook his head.

"There was one guy in the kitchen, sitting at an island," Dean told him.

"Anything else?" John asked. They could easily take out one man.

"There was a bathroom and a bedroom but that was it. They were empty," Dean told him.

"What do you think?" John asked, "Take a chance?"

Dean looked at his father and took a deep breath.

"Something about this place doesn't feel right," he replied, "It all looks a little too perfect inside."

John nodded, "I noticed that too."

"You think it's just a front for something?" Dean asked.

"Could be," John replied, "Won't know until we go inside."

"Gun?" Dean asked.

"Keep it close," John advised, "But don't use it unless necessary. We may need to talk to this guy."

He turned to the back entrance, which consisted of an aluminum and mesh outer door and a heavier, but wooden inside door. John carefully opened the screen door and Dean grabbed hold of it. Instead of a card this time, John pulled out a piece of thin metal that could have once been a paper clip, fitted it into the keyhole on the wooden door and jiggled it around, listening quietly for the locking mechanism to click. It took longer than the dorm room but in the end, John was able to unlock the door. He put the slim piece of metal back in his pocket and gently pushed the door open. He turned to Dean and put a finger to his lips.

He took one step inside, his boot finding pristine linoleum that looked as though it had never been walked on, and then a second step inside and paused, listening.

He could hear nothing. The house was utterly quiet. He motioned for Dean to follow him as he moved further into the house.

Dean closed both doors after himself, moving slowly and quietly so they wouldn't make a sound, before following his father, his heart hammering in his chest.

John passed the bedroom and bathroom Dean had mentioned and then continued on until he stood just beside the open kitchen doorway. Quietly, he glanced through the doorway and there was a person sitting with his back to them.

John turned to Dean and motioned for him to stay where he was. Dean nodded and watched as his father rushed across the kitchen and grabbed the man, surprising him and dragging him off his chair to turn him around and slam his back into the edge of the island.

"Where's my son!" John growled, nose inches from the other man's face, "Sam Winchester, where is he?"

Dean stared at his Dad. He hadn't expected for John to go into full on papa bear mode on the guy. He shrugged, whatever.

The man didn't speak, didn't even open his mouth but his eyes twitched, darting quickly to the left, towards what looked like a pantry, before focusing on John again.

"Dean," John called his son's name and nodded in the direction of the pantry.

"If you're trying to trick us…" John growled at the man and he shook his head, "I am not."

Dean approached the door cautiously; reaching out he gripped the handle and swung the door open quickly to reveal… another door.

"What's going on here?" John shoved the man down harder against the island, making him wince in pain, "The door… leads to a… basement…"

The interior door was secured but the key was on a chain hanging from the doorknob. Dean unlocked the door but didn't open it. He looked back at John.

John raised a fist and punched the man in the face, letting him fall to the floor where he struck his head and lay unmoving.

Dean turned to the door and eased it open, carefully, slowly. There, just as the man had said, was a wooden staircase that appeared to lead into a dark cellar or basement.

Dean looked back at John. His father motioned to him to go forward.

"Aren't you coming?" he asked.

John shook his head, "I'll stay here in case this asshole wakes up or if anyone else shows up."

Dean nodded and lifted his hand to the switch that turned on the basement lights. Dean walked carefully, the steps creaked and groaned and squeaked with every step as though they would collapse under his weight. Before he could see the basement proper, a foul stench wafted up towards the hunter, forcing him to put his sleeve across his nose, his eyes watering. Looking down, he saw that the floor of the basement was unfinished, just hard-packed dirt.

Dean, unsure of what he would find at the bottom, lifted his gaze, taking in the stone walls of the windowless basement, the ceiling with crisscrossing two-by-fours, before forcing himself to look.

The first thing he noticed was the row of metal rings hanging from the wall, several of which had open handcuffs dangling from them. The next thing Dean noticed was that there was a figure, hunched over, hands held slightly overhead, faced the wall.

"S-Sam?" Dean called, his blood seeming to freeze in his veins, "Sammy?"

Slowly the figure moved and peered over its shoulder. Sam Winchester's hazel eyes peered out at Dean from a battered and bloodied face.

"D-D'n?" the younger brother whimpered, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Sammy," Dean's feet propelled him forward and suddenly he was at his brother's side. Shrugging off his leather jacket, Dean put it over his brother's shoulders before he did anything else.

"Give me a second, Sammy, I'll get you out of these," Dean murmured before looking back towards the staircase.

"DAD!"

"Dean?" John's voice called in response.

"GET DOWN HERE!"

"D'n," Sam whimpered, his tears leaving streaks down his grimy cheeks.

"I know, Sammy," Dean raised his hand and laid it on Sam's head.

"Did you find-" John's voice came from the staircase as he came downstairs, stopping when he caught sight of the scene before him.

"I need your lock pick," Dean told him.

"Sam," John said, shocked. Glancing down he patted his jacket until he found the pick and handed it to his eldest son, unable to take his eyes from his youngest.

John crouched on Sam's other side. He reached out a hand to his son, unsure what of what he wanted to do, when he caught sight of a flash of colour on his son's arm. John grabbed hold of Sam's arm, causing his son to flinch and try to pull away but the father's grip was too strong. Carefully, John turned Sam's arm so his left forearm was showing. There, inked into the skin just below the crook of his elbow, was a series of six numbers.

John released Sam's arm and sat back, "Bastards."

With a metallic click, Dean unlocked one of the handcuffs from around his brother's wrists, careful not to hurt him.

"We're almost done, Sammy," Dean murmured, then, "What is it Dad?"

"Look at his arm," John said and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.

"Huh?" Dean, still fiddling with the other cuff, looked down at his brother's arm.

"These are bad people," John told him. Dean looked up sharply, green eyes fearful.

With a second metal click, the other cuff opened and Dean took it off his brother's wrist, tossing it to one side. Slowly Sam lowered his arms before crossing them over himself.

John stood, "We need to leave now, before they come back."

He slipped his arms out of his jacket and bent down to tie it around his youngest son's waist, the best he could do at the moment to cover his nakedness.

Dean looked up at his father, "What do you mean, Dad? There was only one guy!"

"There will be more where he came from," John told him as he bent down and grabbed Sam under the armpit.

"Get his other arm, Dean," John instructed and Dean did as he was asked.

Sam whimpered as he was pulled into an upright position. He reached out, one hand against the wall, as his legs started to buckle.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean encouraged, "Stand up, man."

Sam cried out as Dean pulled him up again. Dean looked at John, scared that he was hurting his brother.

"He's probably just getting the circulation back in his legs, Dean," John explained, "If he's been down here since the party."

Dean's eyes widened in shock.

"We can't wait," John told him, "We need to get out of here as soon as possible."

"But Sammy-" Dean began but John interrupted him, "If we don't get him out of here, Dean, a little pins and needles are going to be the least of his worries."

Dean, though still not sure what exactly was going on, gritted his teeth as he and his father helped Sam turn around. Sam staggered, whimpering with pain, leaning heavily against them for support.

"C'mon Sammy, c'mon you can do it," Dean found himself speaking under his breath, "Just a little further, yeah, just a bit further."

Painfully slow, they crossed the basement, Sam gradually able to support himself more and more. He was still weak though, so John and Dean walked with him, pushing him more like, as they climbed the staircase.

Once in the kitchen, John checked to see if the man he had left was still knocked out- he was- before cautiously releasing his hold on his youngest son.

"I'm going to bring the car," he said, "You bring your brother."

Dean nodded and wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders. He watched as Sam's gaze followed John as he left the house by the back door and disappeared.

"He'll be right back, Sammy," Dean assured him, "C'mon, lets get you the hell out of here."

Sam walked with Dean to the back door, laying his head against Dean's shoulder.

"You can rest once we're in the car," Dean told him, feeling a lump in his throat, wondering what Sam had gone through in the past few days.

They stepped into the backyard, the younger brother squinting in the bright sunlight. Dean carefully guided his barefoot sibling around the side of the house and saw the Impala park on the sidewalk, idling.

John was glancing around as though he expected to be suddenly attacked but visibly calmed when Dean opened the rear passenger's side door for his brother. Dean smiled when he saw John had put some blankets from the trunk into the back. Sam crawled onto the bench seat, opened a blanket and covered himself with it and sat, facing the front. Dean climbed onto the seat beside his brother, Sam leaning against him and gripped his shirt with one hand as though he never wanted to let go. Sam peered up at his brother through wet, red-rimmed eyes.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured to his brother as John pulled away from the house, "It's going to be okay now."

Dean looked at their father when Sam closed his eyes, wondering if his sibling really was asleep or if he was just resting.

"We need to stop somewhere and get Sam cleaned up, check his wounds, get him some clothes," Dean told John.

"I'd like to get out of here before we stop anywhere," John told his eldest son.

Dean looked at his father, "What do you think happened back there?"

John's hands tightened on the steering wheel and the speedometer inched higher.

"Dad?" Dean asked again, "Do you know what happened?"

"I don't know for certain," John admitted, "But I think your brother got caught up with a group of human traffickers."

"What?" Dean exclaimed sharply.

"They abduct people and-" John began; only to be interrupted, "I know what that means. I just… how? They're in the middle of California, just blocks away from a prestigious college… you'd think someone would notice."

John just shook his head. Dean glanced down at his brother, now having a chance to take in his appearance.

Sam's hair was tangled and unwashed and he needed to shave. There was a healing gash on his forehead, surrounded by a purple bruise and the right side of his face was badly scraped. One of his eyes was puffy, as though it had been swollen but was going down, and there was a dark bruise on his cheekbone. His lips were dry and cracked and pale.

Dean shifted his position slightly, jostling his brother. Sam opened his eyes and looked up at him.

"What did they do to you, Sammy?" Dean whispered.

_W_

As John had insisted, they left Palo Alto before they stopped. The Winchesters pulled into a small gas station on the side of the highway, John pulling right up to the restrooms around the back of the small cinderblock building.

"I'll get the key," John said and exited the vehicle. Dean looked around but the gas station was deserted- drivers preferring to stop at the larger, chain gas stations instead of a no-name one- and smiled encouragingly at his brother.

Sam was still leaning heavily against him, still wearing Dean's jacket draped over his shoulders, John's jacket around his waist, a blanket wrapped around him.

"We'll get you cleaned up, Sammy," Dean told him. Sam tightened his fist in Dean's shirt.

John opened the rear passenger's side door and passed Dean the key to the men's room.

"I'll grab his duffle and the First Aid Kit," John told Dean and walked to the rear of the car.

Dean gently eased Sam's hand from his shirt, slid out of the vehicle and then walked around to open the door for his brother, "C'mon Sammy."

Holding the blanket at his throat with one hand, the younger Winchester reached out to take his brother's offered hand. Dean led his brother to the restroom and unlocked the door, peering inside, revealing only a single room with a sink, urinal, and toilet. John followed behind them and passed Dean the First Aid Kit. The restroom wasn't the cleanest, much to Dean's irritation, the cement floor was covered in hundreds of questionable stains, the tiled walks littered with graffiti, the fluorescent light flickered treacherously, flies clearly visible inside the cover, the mirror over the sink spotted and cracked. The entire room had an overwhelming stench of lemon-scented urinal cake and piss.

Dean took the blanket from his brother and laid it across the toilet seat before having Sam sit down, he didn't want his sibling to catch anything from this place after everything he'd been through.

John remained at a distance, leaning against the closed door, arms folded across his chest.

"Okay, Sammy," Dean knelt down and opened the First Aid Kit, taking out the bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a cotton ball and some bandages.

Carefully, gently, Dean wiped the blood away from Sam's face before dabbing the wound on his brow with peroxide. He hissed in sympathy when the wound began bleeding again, a crimson rivulet running down Sam's nose.

"Sorry," Dean murmured and quickly wiped away the blood. He applied a piece of gauze before moving on.

John pushed himself away from the door, "I'll be back."

Dean didn't even look in his direction as his father left the restroom.

"Okay Sammy, let's see your wrists," Dean murmured and once again began the process of cleaning and bandaging.

"I need my jacket back, buddy," Dean told his brother and lifted his coat from Sam's shoulders.

His brother hunched himself and Dean saw more bruises and scrapes on his sibling's back but nothing that needed immediate attention.

"Let's get you dressed, okay?" Dean asked his brother, gripping his hands and pulling him into a standing position. He grabbed some clothes from his brother's duffle bag- a pair of boxers, sweatpants and a t-shirt. Dean set the pants and shirt on the edge of the sink and held the underwear out to his brother. Sam took a step back from him. Surprised at his sibling's behaviour, Dean looked up, meeting his brother's gaze, Sam's eyes fearful and uncertain.

"Sammy, you gotta get dressed," he encouraged, shaking his hand holding the boxers a little, "You don't have anything I haven't seen before."

Sam looked away from him.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, his heart twinging with a sudden anxiety, "Why don't you want to get dressed?"

Sam didn't answer but continued to look away from him, backing up until he was standing against the wall.

"Sammy?" Dean said again, "What's wrong, man?"

He took a step towards his brother and Sam slid away from him.

"Sam, c'mon, you have to get dressed," Dean stopped where he was, not wanting to upset his sibling. He continued to hold the pair of boxers out like some sort of strange peace offering.

"Sammy? Are you okay?" Dean asked. Sam looked up at him, his eyes wet.

"Sam," Dean felt a lump in his throat, "What's wrong? Please, tell me. You can tell me."

Sam looked at him, his expression torn.

"D'n," he whimpered.

Dean took a step forward, Sam didn't move. He took another step and another step, until he was standing in front of his sibling.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean assured him, even though it did not feel in the least bit okay, "C'mon, lets get you dressed."

Sam reached out and quickly grabbed the underwear from his brother's hand and bent so he could put his foot through the leg hole.

"Sam, take Dad's jacket off," Dean reached out and pulled on the sleeve, yanking the knot free. The jacket slid to the floor and Sam swayed, unbalanced. Dean reached out and grabbed his brother's arm by the elbow, tightly, making his sibling wince.

"Can I he-" Dean began, reaching out to his brother but stopped short when he caught sight of dried blood on the back of his brother's thighs.

Looking up, his green eyes met Sam's hazel ones and saw a deep shame in his brother's expression.

"Sam," Dean whispered. His brain struggled to process what he was seeing, fighting to instinct to put two-and-two together.

"You're hurt," Dean said and, with one hand still on his brother's elbow, drew Sam away from the wall, "Let me see."

Sam tried to pull away from Dean's grip, shaking his head.

"D'n," he whimpered.

"Sammy," Dean murmured, "Please, I gotta make sure you're okay."

Sam shook his head again and wrapped his free arm around his middle.

"Sam," Dean said, releasing his brother's arm to reach out and cup his sibling's face in his hands, "Please, I have to know."

His brother lowered his gaze and sucked in a shaky breath. Quickly, to try and keep his brother's discomfort to a minimum, Dean checked his brother's legs for wounds but found none. Despite that, there most certainly had been some sort of physical injury. Dean closed his eyes for a moment, wishing he didn't have to ask his next question. He put his hands on his brother's face again, gently but firmly, forcing his sibling to look at him.

"Sam," Dean said and moved his thumbs across Sam's cheekbones when he felt warm tears against his skin, "Were you… Did they…"

God, how was he supposed to ask this? He had hoped that what the blood on his brother's legs had suggested wasn't true but with no apparent wounds and the dried blood on the backs of his brother's thighs, he had strong sense he knew what had happened.

Dean whispered the words, feeling them fighting to remain unspoken, "Sammy, did they hurt you?"

He couldn't get the word out, couldn't actually say the word 'rape' as though by not saying it, it would somehow make it less real.

Sam's eyes welled with tears and that was all the answer Dean needed. He pulled his brother into a tight hug, feeling Sam trembling. Dean felt his own eyes well with tears and he tightened his embrace, as though by squeezing hard enough he could push out his brother's memories of what he had been through during the past few days.

Dean didn't know how long they stayed like that but once he and Sam let go of each other, Dean wanted nothing more than to just get back in the Impala and get as far away from California as possible.

He helped Sam dress and although his brother didn't have any shoes in his duffle, that was fine, they'd be in the car mostly anyway. Gathering the First Aid Kit, duffle bag, blanket, and their Dad's jacket, Dean opened the restroom door to find the Impala parked exactly as they'd left it, John sitting behind the steering wheel.

Dean stalked towards the window and rapped his knuckles against it. John peered at him, his expression confused and then rolled down the window.

"What-" John began but Dean interrupted, rage at his father spilling over.

"You son of a bitch!" Dean snarled, "You bastard, you wouldn't listen to me!"

"Dean-" John tried, not understanding why he was being attacked.

"You didn't believe me when I said something wasn't right! You wouldn't trust me when I thought Sammy was in trouble!" Dean snapped.

"Hold on-" John spoke up again but again, Dean wouldn't let him speak.

"You made me wait three days! Three goddamn days that they were torturing Sam! They beat him and… and… you know what? I'm done talking to you right now," Dean looked away from John and turned his attention back to his brother. During the argument, Sam stood behind Dean, one hand fisted in the back of his shirt as though he were afraid he'd disappear if he let go.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean reached his hand back and Sam took hold of it, letting go of his shirt.

Dean opened the door for his sibling and caught sight of a white plastic bag in the backseat, two Gatorade bottles poking out of the top. John, who seemed to have followed his gaze, spoke, "I figured he'd need something to eat and drink."

"Good idea," Dean said sarcastically and put the First Aid Kid, blanket and duffle on the floor, ushering his brother inside. Sam slid down the bench seat and Dean climbed into the rear passenger's seat beside him and scrubbed both hands over his face.

John wanted to speak to his eldest son, ask him if Sam was all right but he kept his mouth shut. Instead he started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

Dean dug a hand in the bag and pulled out a bottle of Gatorade. He twisted the cap free and offered the bottle to Sam. His brother stared at it but didn't take it.

"C'mon Sammy, it's Gatorade," Dean encouraged, "You've got to be thirsty."

Still Sam refused to take the bottle. Dean, confused, lifted the bottle to his own lips and took a drink.

"See? It's all right," Dean told his brother and pressed the bottle into Sam's hand. Reluctantly, his brother took a sip of the sports drink.

_W_

Dean couldn't get his brother to finish the Gatorade. After taking a sip he'd handed the bottle back. Dean sighed and put the lid back on, setting the bottle aside for later. Instead, he fished in the bag again until he grabbed a bag of beef jerky. He tore the bag open and held it out to Sam.

"I know it's not your favourite, but you've got to eat something," Dean encouraged.

Sam refused to even take one piece, even when Dean ate some. Sighing, he ate the jerky himself, not wanting it to go to waste.

He was still simmering with anger and although he didn't want to talk to his father, he wanted him to know what his stupidity and indecision had meant for his brother. Before he could get up the nerve to speak, his father beat him to it.

"Want to tell me what happened back there?" John asked quietly, moving the rearview mirror so he could see his sons in the backseat.

Dean met his father's gaze and sighed, "I don't want to think about it, much less talk about it."

"Dean," John urged, "Please."

"Mind turning up the music?" Dean asked, surprising John but he did as he was asked and Alice In Chains' 'Rotten Apple' thumped from the speakers.

Dean leaned forward, arms on the back of the front bench seat, his mouth close to John's ear so he could speak without having to shout.

"It looks like they beat him," Dean told him, "He's covered with bruises and scrapes."

John looked at Dean quickly before turning his attention back to the road.

"But that's not what's got you so upset," John said, "Dean, just tell me. I need to know."

"They raped him," Dean told his father, snarling the words, "Because we weren't there in time they raped him. You could have stopped it but you wanted us to wait!"

John narrowed his eyes at his eldest son, "How the hell was I supposed to know what had happened, Dean? I'm not a fucking psychic!"

"You should have listened to me, damn it! You know Sam's a magnet for trouble!" Dean hissed and sat back sharply.

John didn't say anything for a long time. Dean saw his father's eyes in the rearview mirror were wet.

Well it was a little fucking late for that, Dean thought. Crying wasn't going to fix anything; Dean had learned as much from his father. You had to man-up and take care of business, even if it was you who had fucked up. You took responsibility for your mistakes like an adult. You didn't blubber over them like some snot-nosed kid.

_W_

"Dad, we need to stop," Dean announced, speaking for the first time in hours.

John reached out and turned the music volume down. They had just passed a sign welcoming them to Mammoth Lakes, over six hours away from Palo Alto.

The eldest Winchester glanced at his sons in the rearview mirror: Dean was sitting up on one side of the rear bench seat with his brother curled up beside him, Sam's head resting on his lap, feet against the door. But he wasn't asleep; his eyes were wide open.

"Maybe we should wait until we cross over into Nevada," John suggested, "It's not that far."

Dean shook his head, "Sam needs to get checked by a real doctor, sooner rather than later. And he needs some proper food and rest."

John glanced again at his youngest son in the mirror and nodded.

"Okay, Dean," he acquiesced. He didn't want to admit it but he wouldn't mind taking a break. Although he wanted to get as far from Stanford and the people who had held his son captive, he knew they had a head start and it would take time for the traffickers to find them- if and when that happened. He was hoping that the one in the kitchen hadn't seen the Impala but if he had, well John Winchester had friends too, a whole community of hunters who would protect one of their own from monsters human or not.

John drove slowly down the street, searching for a payphone. If he found one, it would surely have a phonebook that would have the address of a walk-in clinic. Stopping abruptly, he spotted a phone booth outside of an employment center and pulled up in front of it. Opening the door, he slipped out and walked to the booth. It was filthy- covered in grime and graffiti- the phone itself hanging off the cradle, the phone book missing half its pages but John decided to try his luck. Flipping through the thin pages, he was pleased to see that the 'C' section was still intact and quickly found a listing for the cities clinics, including walk-ins. Finding what he needed, he tore the page out of book and climbed back into the car.

"There's a whole list of walk-in clinics," John set the paper on the seat beside him and began driving again.

"Hey Sammy, can you sit up?" John heard Dean murmur to his sibling, "We're going to get you checked out by a doctor."

John quickly glanced in the rearview mirror to see his youngest son sitting up in the backseat; his arms wrapped around his middle like he had a stomachache and shake his head.

"I know you don't want to but we have to make sure you're okay," Dean said gently, "I'll be with you. I won't leave you alone."

"D'n," Sam muttered and leaned his head against Dean's shoulder.

"We're almost there," John announced, speaking past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.

The walk-in clinic was an unassuming redbrick building sandwiched between a Mexican restaurant and a dollar store in a strip mall.

John parked the car as close to the front door as he could and killed the engine.

"Pop the trunk, Dad," Dean ordered, "Sam needs some shoes."

John did as he was asked and unlocked the trunk. He waited until his sons had gone around to the rear of the car before getting out himself.

Exiting the vehicle, he stretched his stiff muscles as he waited for his sons. He could see that the restaurant was full, people chatting, laughing, enjoying their food, and, for a brief moment John felt hatred towards them, all of them, because they weren't going through what his youngest son had gone through.

Glancing at Sam, he saw that his youngest was wearing a pair of Dean's old running shoes he rarely wore anymore, preferring his boots. He was gripping the sleeve of Dean's jacket, just like he used to when he was a little boy.

John went inside first, pushing open the glass door and frowning at how empty the clinic was. He could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall in the waiting area but other than that, it was quiet.

"Hello?" he called, "Hello?"

A young woman, around Sam's age wearing a purple blouse and grey dress slacks appeared from behind the reception desk, "I'm sorry but we've closed."

"Is there a doctor or a nurse here?" John asked, "Please, my son needs help."

The young woman, who looked like she just wanted to go home, nodded, "I think Dr. Tanner is still here. Give me a second."

She rushed through a doorway behind the desk and the Winchesters waited anxiously. Finally, after some time, she reappeared, "I told Dr. Tanner you were here. She'll be out in a minute."

The young woman grabbed her Lulu Lemon bag and slung it over her shoulder but seemed uncertain of what to do next.

The sound of hurried footfalls approached and a middle-aged woman appeared, holding a white coat over one arm, a purse hanging from her shoulder.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm just closing for-" she began but John interrupted, "Can you look at my son, please? He's been hurt."

The woman pushed her wire-rimmed glasses up on her nose and squinted at the Winchesters. Frowning, clearly trying to decide what the best course of action would be, she finally nodded, "All right, come in."

Turning to the young receptionist she spoke, "Kathy, can you stay for a little bit? Just until I see to these people?"

"Sure," Kathy sat back down and pulled out her cell phone.

Dean glared at John; silently telling him he wasn't welcome to come with them so the father huffed and sat down in a chair, arms crossed.

Dr. Tanner led the brothers into an examination room and closed the door. Placing her purse onto the computer desk that sat against one wall, she shrugged her white lab coat back on.

"Can you sit on the table please?" she asked Sam, gesturing to the exam table on the opposite side of the room.

Sam hesitated for only a second before doing as she asked, not letting go of Dean, who leaned against the table as Sam sat, the paper crinkling.

"What's happened?" the woman asked.

"My brother was raped," Dean told her and Dr. Tanner frowned.

"When did this happen?" the doctor asked and Dean answered, lying.

"Last night," he told her.

"Where?" she asked.

Dean told her the name of a nearby town.

"We were passing through, decided to stop," he lied, "We went out and lost track of Sam."

Dr. Tanner nodded, "Sam? I need to ask you some questions and I want you to answer to the best of your ability, okay?"

Sam nodded but didn't look up; he seemed fascinated by his hands clasped in his lap.

Dean watched as the woman sat at the computer and booted it up, she typed in her password and opened a program that would allow her to select different forms about a variety of medical issues and type answers to the questions listed.

"Were you drinking alcohol or taking any illegal substances at the time of the assault?"

Dean looked at his brother. Sam shook his head.

"He wasn't," he told the doctor.

She turned in her chair, "I need Sam to answer. I'm sorry. But it's important that he answer these questions himself."

Dean frowned but nodded.

"Sam?" Dr. Tanner prompted.

"No," Sam mumbled.

The doctor turned and typed something into the computer.

"Were you acting in a way that would draw unwanted attention?"

"What-" Dean began but Sam spoke before he could finish.

"No," he whispered.

"Were there other people present at the time of the assault other than your attacker?"

Sam paused as though he were thinking about what his answer should be. Dr. Tanner didn't seem to notice.

"No," Sam whispered again.

"Okay," she responded, "Now, these next questions are going to be a little harder but again, I need you to answer to the best of your knowledge."

Dean reached out and took his brother's hand, Sam's fingers cool and dry against his.

"Was the perpetrator male or female?"

Dean squeezed Sam's hand.

"Male," Sam answered.

"Was there one or more attackers?"

"More," Sam answered, his voice barely audible.

"To the best you can remember, how many were involved?"

Dean gripped his brother's hand tightly.

Sam wouldn't look up, whether it was out of shame or embarrassment, Dean didn't know.

"Sam?" Dr. Tanner asked but he refused to say anything else.

Oh Sammy, Dean thought and looked towards the ceiling for a moment to get his emotions under control.

"Okay, just a couple of more questions," Dr. Tanner told them.

"Were any foreign objects used turning the attack?"

Dean looked at the woman, "What does that mean?"

Dr. Tanner turned in her chair and pinched the bridge of her nose, "Were objects such as a broomstick handle or a beer bottle used during the assault."

Dean closed his eyes and felt nauseous, wishing he hadn't asked.

"N-No," Sam replied and Dean squeezed his hand again.

Dr. Tanner typed the answer into the computer.

"Last question, have you gone to the police with this information?"

"Yes," Dean answered, lying again, "We spoke to them last night."

Dr. Tanner nodded in approval and stood up.

"I'd like to do a physical examination," she told them. Sam looked up at Dean, nervous.

"I'd like to make sure there isn't any serious damage done," she explained, "I'm going ask you to leave the room until it's complete."

"Dean," Sam whimpered, squeezing Dean's hand painfully.

"Can't I stay?" Dean asked, "Sammy's really scared. Please."

Dr. Tanner didn't answer for a moment but then she nodded, "All right. I don't normally do this but, considering the circumstances…"

Dean forced himself to smiled at the woman before turning to his brother.

"It's okay Sammy," Dean murmured, "She's a doctor, she's not going to hurt you."

"Would you like me to step out of the room for a minute?" Dr. Tanner asked.

"Could you?" Dean asked and she nodded, "When Sam's ready, have him take his pants and underwear off and lie on the bed on his stomach."

She paused, opened a cabinet door and pulled out a blue hospital johnnie.

"You can cover Sam with this for privacy," she handed the jonnie to Dean and left the room.

Dean turned to his brother.

"C'mon Sammy," he urged, "She's gotta make sure you're not hurt. I know you don't want to but I'm right here. I won't let anything happen to you, okay?"

Dean watched as Sam nodded, sliding off the table and pulling his pants and boxers down. Instantly, Dean put the hospital johnnie around his brother's waist so he wouldn't feel so vulnerable, tying it in place.

Sam then climbed back onto the table, lying on his stomach, his chin resting against the thin pillow beneath the paper, arms folded beneath it. Dean reached out and took hold of one of his brother's hands that was hidden beneath the pillow. Sam smiled ever so slightly.

"It'll be okay," Dean assured him.

The door opened and Dr. Tanner stepped inside. The doctor pulled on a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and approached Sam until she was standing beside Dean.

"Sam, I'm going to have to touch you but I'm not going to try my best not to hurt you, all right?" Dr. Tanner told the young man and Sam nodded.

Dean kept his eyes on his brother as the woman walked around the table to stand behind Sam. Glancing up quickly, he watched her lift the hospital johnnie before looking back at Sam. His brother winced slightly and Dean squeezed his hand comfortingly. In another minute Dr. Tanner had lowered the hospital johnnie and was removing her gloves.

"Well?" Dean asked, "Is everything okay?"

Sam sat up on the edge of the table, the johnnie hanging down to his knees.

"Sam has some anal fissures," Dr. Tanner explained.

"What are those?" Dean asked, sitting down beside his brother on the table.

"Tears in the lining of the anus that cause pain and bleeding," she explained, "They can be caused by anal intercourse. The good news is, they can usually be treated without any major surgery. I'll write Sam a prescription for a topical medication to promote healing and I'd also recommend he take a stool softener and eat a high-fiber diet for a while. Go to the hospital if the pain becomes unbearable while having a bowel movement or if there is a large amount of blood."

She took back her computer chair and pulled out a pad of prescriptions, writing down her instructions on one and ripping it off and handing it to Dean.

"Thank you so much for your help, doctor," Dean told her, "We owe you."

Dr. Tanner smiled, "No you don't. I'm just dong my job."

She looked at Dean seriously, "Take care of your brother."

Dean nodded, "Don't worry, I will."

She shrugged out of white coat, picked up her purse and stepped out of the exam room so Sam could dress.

Dean folded the doctor's prescription and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

Once Sam had his boxers and pants back on, Dean opened the door and headed into the waiting area. Dr. Tanner was standing by the door, speaking quietly with John.

"Thanks again," John told the women.

Sam's hand found Dean's as he followed him outside and towards the car. Once again, the brothers sat in the backseat while John got behind the wheel of the Impala.

Sam leaned heavily against Dean, his eyes closed. Dean smiled and carded a hand through his brother's hair.

"You did real good, Sammy," he murmured to his sibling.

_W_

Two and a half hours later, they pulled into a dingy motel on the outskirts of Carson City, Nevada.

All three Winchesters were exhausted and wanted nothing more than to eat and get some sleep.

John dropped his duffle on the bed closest to the door and looked at his sons, sitting side-by-side on the other bed, Sam leaning against his brother.

"Why don't you take a shower, Sam?" John suggested, taking in the blood still staining his son's skin, his unwashed hair and stubble.

Sam looked at John and then at Dean, "D'n."

"You don't need Dean with you," John told him, "You're eighteen."

Sam reached out and grabbed the front of his brother's shirt.

"Give him a fucking break would you?" Dean glared at their father, "Can't you see he's practically traumatized?"

John just threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"Coddling him isn't going to help," he told Dean but his eldest son ignored him.

"You'll feel better after a shower, Sammy," Dean told him.

Sam looked at the bandages around his wrists, "But…"

"I'll put fresh ones on afterwards," Dean assured him and stood, pulling Sam into a standing position as he did so. Carefully prying his brother's hand away from his shirt, Dean twined his fingers in Sam's instead and led him to the bathroom.

John just shook his head.

Once inside the bathroom with the door closed, Dean carefully unrolled the gauze from around his brother's wrists and peeled the bandage off his forehead. Afterwards he sat on the closed lid of the toilet as his brother undressed, telling himself that a hot shower and some hot food would do his sibling a world of good. Sam climbed into the tub, drew the curtain and turned on the water.

Dean sat patiently, waiting as steam swirled around the small bathroom, fogging the mirror and coating everything in a wet film.

After a minute or so, he heard another sound over the flow of the water.

"Sammy? You okay in there?" Dean called.

There was no response. Cautiously, Dean moved the curtain aside to see his brother, head bowed to watch the blood and grime swirling down the drain, crying. Dean said nothing but quickly sat back, feeling his own eyes sting with tears.

_W_

John Winchester closed the curtains across the window of the tiny motel room, for once wishing that the Impala wasn't so damn noticeable. Not that he could do anything about it now; he just hoped that the man in the Beta Theta Upsilon house hadn't seen it.

Looking up as the bathroom door opened, John forced a smile at the sight of his youngest son. Sam still looked like hell but at least now he had had a chance to clean himself and wash his hair. Dean had put fresh bandages on his brother and they looked blindingly white against his pale skin.

"I ordered us pizza," John told his sons, "Hope that's okay."

Dean shrugged and sat down on the side of the bed, pulling his brother down to sit beside him. Sam allowed this and leaned against Dean, his eyes half-closed.

"Hey, Sammy your dripping water on me," Dean joked as Sam's hair dripped onto his shoulder. Sam didn't move however. Dean wrapped an arm around his brother and looked at John.

John cleared his throat and moved from his spot, coming to sit beside his youngest son. Sam looked up at him.

"Dad," he whispered, as though afraid to raise his voice, "I'm so-"

"No," John interrupted, "Don't. You don't need to apologize to me."

Sam's eyes widened slightly. Was his Dad still angry with him for leaving? Was he going to get kicked out?

Sam whimpered and reached out to grip the front of Dean's t-shirt again.

"The fight- well, I've forgotten about it," John told him, "I'm glad you're safe, that's all."

Sam lowered his gaze. He started playing with a lose thread on the bandage on his wrist as he hung onto Dean's shirt.

"Sam," John said, "Son, look at me."

Sam slowly lifted his gaze; hazel eyes peering nervously into his father's dark brown ones.

"Can you… Do you feel up to talking to us?" John asked, "About what happened?"

"Dad, don't you think he's been through enough today?" Dean asked their father.

Sam shook his head against Dean's chest, his grip on Dean's t-shirt tightening.

"Sam doesn't want to talk," Dean told him, wrapping an arm protectively around his sibling.

"He's going to have to talk eventually," John commented.

"When he's ready," Dean growled, "Not when you want him to."

Dean didn't know what else their Dad wanted from Sam. They already knew he'd been beaten and raped, for him, at least, that was just about as much as he could take at the moment. He wasn't about to press Sam for information he didn't want or wasn't ready to give. Hell, that morning they had rescued him for that awful house. Didn't John realize Sam needed some time to process? Did he care?

"It's not going to help with you treating him like a baby, Dean," John told his eldest son.

Dean ignored him.

"We'll get you something to eat and then you can get some sleep," he told Sam.

Sam closed his eyes, face pressed against Dean's chest.

_SPN_

Sam refused to let go of his brother. Something inside telling him that if he did so, Dean was sure to disappear and he'd be back in that awful basement with Magnus and the other Brothers.

He wasn't stupid; he knew this was all some sort of hallucination, a delusion, from eating the drugged oatmeal. He guessed, though, that he hadn't consumed enough to get the full effects like Terry and the other boys so instead of becoming some kind of brainless drone, whatever the food had been spiked with, was drug-induced dream.

Sam didn't mind actually, as long as he got to see his brother again. Dean's arms around his felt just as real as if he were actually there with him. He could almost- almost- believe that this Dean was the real thing. Sam could feel the warmth of Dean's chest against his cheek, feel the softness of the fabric of his brother's shirt beneath his hand, and smell his sibling's familiar scent.

Sam tightened his grip on Dean's shirt when his brother shifted position, terrified that at any moment he'd be jolted back into nightmarish reality.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured and place a hand on his shoulder.

Sam watched warily as their father grabbed his duffel bag and pulled his journal out, opened it and took a pen from his shirt pocket to write with.

"Really Dad, you're going to do that now?" Dean's chest vibrated gently against Sam's cheek as he spoke.

"I'm adding information on this human trafficking group, Dean, if you want to know," John growled back.

"In your journal?" Dean asked.

Sam glanced down when their father looked across the room at them, dark eyes angry.

"They're monsters," he snapped, "As much as werewolves or vampires or wendigos are. I don't consider them human. Look what they did to your brother."

Sam let out an involuntary whimper and clenched his eyes closed.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured, "They can't hurt you anymore."

Oh Dean, Sam thought, if only that were true.

Tears welled up in his eyes and he reached out his other hand to grab onto Dean's shirt.

"Hey, hey, hey, you're all right, Sammy, it's all right," Dean wrapped both arms around him tightly.

Sam wanted so badly to believe that Dean was telling the truth but he knew, that his brother was wrong.

A sharp knock on the door startled Sam and he pressed his face against his brother's shirt, smearing it with tears and snot.

He heard John get up and walk across the room, open the door a bit and speak to someone.

"It's just the pizza," Dean assured him.

John closed the door with a snap, startling Sam again, and the scent of pizza filled the small motel room.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean encouraged and pulled Sam away from him. Sam though, wasn't having any of it and reached out one hand to grab one of his brother's. He led Sam over to the tiny table in the room where John sat and, his younger brother dropped into the chair beside his, nearly on top of him.

John watched this with no comment but Sam could feel his father's eyes on him as he opened the pizza box.

"I got half meat-lovers and half vegetables," John told them.

He set a couple of napkins in front of his sons and handed them each a slice of their preferred type of pizza. Dean began eating his with gusto, ravenous after the long day.

Sam's stomach cramped with hunger as he stared at his slice of pizza oozing grease onto the napkin. It was just what he liked: cheese with onions, green peppers, broccoli, jalapeños and black olives.

But he could not, would not eat it.

It's drugged, a voice in his head warned him, just like the oatmeal. If you eat it you'll end up like Terry.

Sam shuddered and shoved the slice of pizza away.

"Sam? Aren't you hungry? You've gotta be starving, man," Dean asked, his expression concerned.

Sam looked down and shook his head.

"C'mon Sammy, take one bite," Dean pleaded, "For me."

Sam refused.

"Look," Dean grabbed Sam's piece of pizza and took a bite, "It's fine."

Dean held the slice out to Sam but he turned his face away.

"Leave him be, Dean," John's voice scolded, muffled by a mouthful of food, "Didn't you tell me not to press him?"

"He needs to eat!" Dean exclaimed.

"He'll eat when he's ready," John argued, "Maybe he's not ready to stomach pizza right now."

"Sammy, is that right?" Dean asked.

Sam looked away and didn't answer.

"Okay, well maybe you can have some soup later or something," Dean acquiesced, "Are you tired? Why don't you lay down?'

Sam didn't want to let go of Dean's hand but he was so tired. He leaned his head against his brother's shoulder instead, as though he intended to sleep like that.

"Sammy, c'mon, you'll be more comfortable in the bed," Dean suggested but Sam grabbed his shirt when Dean tried to shift him.

"Sammy, man, you've gotta get some sleep," Dean urged.

"D'n," Sam whimpered, unable to say anything else. He looked up into his brother's green eyes, silently pleading with him, before lowering his gaze, finding himself looking at the necklace he'd gifted Dean many years ago as a Christmas present.

Dean, seeming to know what Sam was looking at, reached up. Sam whimpered again, afraid Dean was going to pry his hands away but instead, his brother simply took the necklace off. Sam's eyes rolled up to his brother's face again, questioning.

"Here," Dean slipped the simple black cord around Sam's neck and the small gold amulet rested against his chest, "You need this more than me."

Sam looked down at the necklace and reached one hand to touch it, the other still fisted in his brother's shirt.

"You remember when you gave that to me?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded.

"You said it would protect me," Dean continued, "Well, now it's going to protect you. As long as you're wearing it, I won't be far away."

Sam looked up into Dean's face, his eyes welling with tears.

"If you're in trouble, all you have to do is touch it and I'll come running," Dean smiled.

Sam didn't know exactly how to respond. He nodded.

"I know you're exhausted, Sammy," Dean continued, "You'll feel a whole lot better if you just get a little sleep, even a couple hour's worth. I am not going to leave this room, okay? I'm going to be right here the entire time. I won't leave you alone. I promise."

Dean reached out and carefully pried Sam's hand from his shirt. Sam wrapped his fingers around his brother's instead.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean assured him, "I'm not going away. Not for anything."

Sam knew what he wanted to do. But he didn't want to do it. He was terrified if he let go of Dean his brother would disappear and the spell would be broken and he'd be back in the basement with only Magnus and the Brothers for company.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean encouraged, "You can do it."

Sam nearly smiled at his brother's words; so similar to those he'd said when teaching him to drive the Impala for the first time. He had been scared then too, but for an entirely different reason. Dean's words though, had the same effect and reluctantly, slowly, Sam held his breath and unclasped his hand from his brother's. Nothing happened. Sam, surprised but still wary, shuffled backwards, keeping his gaze on Dean until the back of his legs touched the mattress of the bed furthest from the door and he crawled onto it, eyes on his brother the entire time. Sam glanced at his brother once again before curling up on his side and drawing the blanket up past his chin. He let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and reached up with one hand, gripping the amulet hanging from his neck.

Sam closed his eyes but could still hear his brother speaking to their Dad, the quiet murmur calming him somewhat, and eventually, miraculously, he slipped into a deep slumber.

**Author's Note:**

**Special thanks to mandancie for helping me with this chapter. **

**Thanks to bumblebeecas, carlton1, TweetyRulz, and only-some-loser for reviewing. **

**Please take a couple of seconds to leave a review if you are enjoying this story. It would mean a lot to me. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Day Five **

Sam woke slowly, reluctantly. Sleep was a sanctuary, a reprieve from the living nightmare in which he found himself.

Despite how hard he clung to unconsciousness, wakefulness beckoned.

Sam's eyes opened halfway and he was surprised to find himself in the motel bed he'd crawled into the night before. Glancing to his side, Sam saw that he was alone and his heart skipped a beat. Where was Dean? He had been here last night! Had he disappeared?

"Dean?" Sam called, one hand reaching out to grab the amulet that hung around his neck, "DEAN!"

The bathroom door opened and Dean poked his head out, his hair damp from a shower.

"I'm right here, Sammy," Dean assured his brother and Sam calmed down.

"Let me get dressed and I'll come out," Dean left the door ajar as he retreated back into the bathroom.

Sam sat up, gripping the amulet tightly in one hand.

It's okay, Dean's here, Sam told himself.

Moments later, his brother exited the bathroom and sat on the bed beside him, putting an arm around his shoulders.

Sam leaned against his brother.

"Thought you left me," Sam muttered.

"I'd never do that, Sammy," Dean assured him.

Sam wondered how long this delusion would last. He knew it wouldn't last forever and eventually he'd be thrust back into the living nightmare of Magnus and the Brothers once again.

With his free hand, Sam grabbed the front of Dean's t-shirt as though that would prevent his brother from vanishing.

He let out a whimper.

"Hey, it's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured, then, "Are you in pain?"

Sam shook his head even though it was a lie. He didn't want Dean to go anywhere, even if it was just to get him a Tylenol.

"Dad will be back any minute now with breakfast," Dean told him and Sam looked up. He hadn't even realized his father wasn't in the room with them.

"Do you think you can eat something this morning?" Dean asked, concerned green eyes peering into Sam's uncertain hazel ones, "You barely ate anything last night. You've got to be starving."

Sam lowered his gaze, making no promises.

The brothers remained sitting like that until they heard the motel room's door open and their father stepped inside, carrying a greasy paper bag and a drink tray from a nearby diner.

"Oh good," John's dark eyes focused on Sam, "You're up. I thought you were going to sleep all morning."

"I couldn't wake him up," Dean told their father as John shut the door and deposited the food and drinks on the table, "He was exhausted."

"Well, come and eat," John told his sons, "I want to get on the road as soon possible."

"Do you know where we're going?" Dean stood up, Sam moving with him, reluctant to let go of his sibling, and together they walked to the table.

"I spoke with Bobby while I was out this morning and he said he thinks he can help us," John replied nonchalantly.

Dean looked up sharply as he reached out for a coffee.

"Bobby? As in, Bobby Singer?"

John nodded.

"How the hell did you even get him to talk to you?" Dean asked, taking a sip of black coffee.

"I told him what happened to Sam," John explained, "Once I did, he completely forgot about wanting to fill me with buckshot."

Dean couldn't help but smile. It had been years since he had last seen Bobby Singer and it would be good to do so again.

Dean dug around in the bag and pulled out a round container with a plastic lid.

"I thought oatmeal would be easy on Sam's stomach," John answered Dean's questioning look.

Dean grabbed a plastic spoon from the bag and popped open the lid on the bowl of oatmeal.

Sam hadn't been paying much attention to his brother and father's conversation. He didn't care where they went, just as long as they stayed with him.

Now though, his gaze was drawn to the bowl his brother was holding, a white plastic spoon sticking out of it.

"Here Sammy, Dad got some oatmeal for you-" Dean began but stopped when he caught the expression on his sibling's face.

Underneath the bruises and cuts, Sam's face had gone as pale as spoiled milk, his eyes welling up with tears.

"Sam?" Dean set the bowl on the table, "Sammy? What's wrong? Are you feeling okay?"

Sam shook his head, releasing his hold on the amulet his was wearing to twist both his hands tightly into his brother's shirt. He swallowed thickly, nausea bubbling up in his stomach.

"What's the matter?" Dean tried again, "Sammy, come on, talk to me!"

Sam let out an involuntary sob. He could not, would not eat the oatmeal. Even if he wanted to, he was certain he wouldn't be able to keep it down.

"Please," Sam whimpered, "Don't make me… I can't…"

"Sammy, Sammy," Dean murmured, looking up at John helplessly.

Sam shook his head.

"He has to eat something," John said.

"It's just oatmeal, Sammy," Dean told him, "Can't you at least take one bite?"

Dean was reaching for the bowl and Sam turned his head away. Dean stopped and instead put his hands on either side of his brother's face and got Sam to look at him.

"Don't make me…" Sam whimpered.

"Okay, Sammy, okay," Dean assured his brother. He wanted to ask why his sibling was having such a strong reaction towards oatmeal, the most mundane of breakfast foods, in his opinion, but he held his tongue. Now was not the time, especially since his brother was so visibly upset by the thought of having to eat some porridge.

"Is there anything else in there, Dad?" Dean asked, not taking his eyes off his brother.

"I got you a breakfast sandwich and hash brown," John told him.

Dean held out a hand and John set the paper-wrapped breakfast sandwich into it.

Dean showed the sandwich to his brother.

"Do you want this, Sammy?"

Sam didn't respond; he still seemed to be struggling with the idea of oatmeal.

"Gimme the hash brown, Dad," Dean reached his hand out and John gave him the deep-fried potato cake.

Dean held the hash brown in front of his brother's face, "Will you eat this, Sammy? Just a couple of bites?"

Sam didn't know what to do. He was so hungry and wanted to eat but he was also afraid of being drugged. He wanted to hold onto this Dean and Dad- even if they weren't real- but he was afraid he'd turn into a mindless zombie like Terry and the others.

With his free hand, Dean rubbed his brother's back, trying to calm him down, as John unwrapped his own sandwich and took a large bite.

"If he won't eat, don't force him," John told Dean, "We can't wait around all day for him. I want to get on the road as soon as we're finished up here."

Dean glared at his father and set the hash brown in front of Sam.

"I'll eat the oatmeal, okay Sammy?" he told his brother and picked up the bowl of porridge.

Sam looked away from his brother and father, feeling the eldest Winchester's gaze upon him and took a deep breath. Slowly, he unclenched one of his hands from his brother's shirt and picked up the hash brown. It was still warm, he could smell the cooked potato and oil it had been fried in. Cautiously, he nibbled at one corner of the hash brown, tasting grease. It wasn't unpleasant and it was familiar, somehow strangely comforting. He took a slightly bigger bite.

"Dad got you some coffee," Dean handed Sam one of the cups, "Did you get it the way Sammy likes it?"

"Two creams, two sugars?" John asked, finished with his breakfast sandwich and now munching on his own hash brown.

Sam set his hash brown down so he wouldn't have to let go of Dean's shirt and took the offered cup of coffee from his brother. He took a sip of the scalding liquid and almost smiled; it was just as he liked.

_SPN_

Ten minutes later the Winchesters were sitting in the Impala; John driving, Dean and Sam in the back, heading towards Bobby Singer's house in South Dakota.

Sam lay curled up on the seat, his head resting on Dean's lap, tired despite having slept the sleep of the exhausted the night before.

Dean sat as still as possible, carding a hand through his brother's hair. Sam hadn't eaten much- he hadn't finished the hash brown- and only drank half his coffee but Dean would take it. It was better than nothing.

Dean wasn't exactly sure how taking Sam to Sioux Falls would help his brother- he knew their Dad wanted to get as far away from California as he could- but maybe just letting Sam know there were more people on his side other than his father and brother would allow him to really relax.

_SPN_

Sam was back in the basement of the Beta Theta Upsilon house. He knew this despite it being pitch black and unable to see anything. He also knew that something was different. He was naked and he still had handcuffs around his wrists but he wasn't chained to the wall this time. He narrowed his eyes, struggling to make out anything, anyone in the darkness.

The sound of approaching footsteps startled him for a second and he called out, nervously.

"D-Dean?"

Whomever it was continued to approach and did not respond right away.

"Dean?" Sam called out again, taking an involuntary step back.

"Saaa-aaam," Magnus' voice replied in the darkness and Sam's heart skipped a beat.

"No," he whispered and turned around, not sure where he was going but knowing he couldn't let the older man catch him.

Sam ran. As usually happens in dreams, the basement seemed much larger than its real-world counterpart and Sam found himself running farther and farther than should have been possible, all the while Magnus' footsteps walking behind him, never speeding up but never stopping either.

"Saaa-aaam," Magnus called from somewhere behind Sam, his deep voice taunting, "Come out, come out wherever you are."

The young man staggered to a stop, panting, chest heaving. It felt like he wasn't making any progress, like Magnus was only just behind him, just out of reach. But he couldn't stop. Once again, Sam started running, pushing himself to keep ahead of the older man.

"You can run but you can't hide," Magnus taunted.

Sam let out a sob of fear and frustration. Suddenly his foot struck something on the ground and he pitched forward, landing on his hands and knees. Turning to find what he'd hit- maybe it was a weapon- Sam inched forward until his hands touched something cool and clammy. Taking a deep breath, Sam curled the fingers of one hand around what felt like a human shoulder.

Lights suddenly blinded the young man as they turned on and Sam clenched his eyes shut for a second before daring to look. Terry lay before him, skin the pale grey of death, purple bruises showing where blood had pooled, eyes open and cloudy.

"No," Sam whimpered, "Terry."

The dead boy blinked and his eyes rolled to take in the young man. Sam jumped back in shock but he wasn't fast enough. Terry's hand snaked out and ice-cold fingers gripped Sam's wrist with inhuman strength.

"NO!" Sam cried, "Let me go!"

"Join the frat, Sam," Terry sat up, a rictus of a smile on his face, "We did."

Terry's eyes moved with a squelching sound to look at something over Sam's shoulder and the young man turned to see the other boys lying dead and broken on the ground behind them, like some cadaverous minefield.

"Let me go!" Sam tugged at Terry's hand, "Magnus is coming!"

The young man let out a cry of surprise when he felt a cold and clammy hand grab him by an ankle and, turning his head, saw Jamal- just as dead as Terry- behind him.

"No! Don't do this! Let me go! Please!"

"Join the frat," Jamal repeated Terry's words.

Sam struggled as the dead boys grabbed at him, their icy hands latching onto his arms, his legs. Sam let out a choking cry as a clammy arm slid around his neck.

"Let… go!" Sam ground out, fighting with all his strength.

"You thought you could run away from me, Sam," Magnus voice chided and Sam looked up. The older man was standing in front of him, a smirk on his lips.

Tears came to Sam's eyes unbidden.

"Please, call them off," Sam whimpered and then groaned in pain as the arm around his throat tightened its grip, nearly cutting off his air.

"You can't run from me," Magnus stepped closer and crouched down so that he was eye-to-eye with Sam.

"No matter how far you go," the man continued, smiling at the fear in Sam's eyes, "I will always find you."

Sam let out a wordless moan.

Magnus stood back up and the lights went out again. A terrified cry ripped itself from Sam as the dead boys dragged him into the darkness…

_SPN_

"Sam!" Dean cried as his brother started whimpering and crying in his sleep, "Wake up, man!"

Shaking his brother's shoulder, Dean glanced up at John's reflection in the rearview mirror.

"Should I pull over?" his father asked but then his youngest son's eyes snapped open and he sat up, grabbing frantically at his brother.

Dean took hold of Sam's wrists- gently- and spoke comfortingly to him.

"It's okay, Sammy, you're all right," he soothed, "It was just a nightmare."

Sam gradually calmed but continued to cry. Dean released his hold on his brother's arms and drew him into a hug. Sam grabbed Dean's jacket tightly, face pressed against Dean's shoulder.

"Is he all right, Dean?" John asked, "Do I need to stop?"

Dean shook his head, "Keep going. I've got it."

Like it would kill you to pull over and make sure Sammy's okay; Dean thought snidely but kept his thoughts to himself.

He turned his attention to his brother instead. Sam was muttering something but he couldn't understand what it was because the words were muffled by his jacket.

"Hey, Sammy, what're you saying?" Dean asked, urging Sam to lift his head. Sam did so, wiping his eyes with one hand.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked.

"They're dead," Sam whimpered, "all of them. Dead."

"Who?" Dean asked. This was the most Sam had spoken about his abduction and torture since he'd been rescued. He wanted to keep Sam talking if he could.

"The others," Sam replied vaguely.

"The others you were with?" Dean asked, thinking back to the multiple empty handcuffs he'd seen in the basement when they had rescued his brother and Sam nodded.

"Sammy, it was just a nightmare," Dean tried to reassure his brother but Sam shook his head.

"They took them away and now they're dead. I couldn't do anything to stop it… I couldn't help them."

"Oh Sammy," Dean murmured and hugged his brother again, "I'm sure they're okay."

Dean wished he hadn't said it as soon as he spoke. What the hell was he thinking? Of course those other kids weren't okay! They had been kidnapped by some assholes who sold other people like they were pieces of furniture and now they were God knows where, having God knows what done to them. He just wanted to comfort his brother anyway he could and if he had to say something stupid to even give his sibling a sliver of peace he would.

Sam didn't seem to think anything of his brother's comment. He wiped his face again and leaned his cheek against Dean's shoulder.

_SPN_

Sam forced himself to forget about the nightmare. It wouldn't help to dwell on it and besides, he wanted to cling to Dean and their Dad and the Impala for as long as he could instead of whatever hell Magnus had in store for him.

As he sat with his cheek resting against his brother's shoulder, the motion of the car and the small, involuntary movements Dean made, lulled Sam back to sleep.

_SPN_

They didn't stop for lunch but went through a Burger King drive-through so they could stay on the road.

There was no way they were going to reach Sioux Falls by nightfall, even without stopping, but when Dean asked where they were going to stay, John simply told his sons he had an idea.

Dean didn't really like his father's vague answers but he didn't argue. If John wanted to be all mysterious then let him.

"How you doing, Sammy?" Dean murmured to his brother, brushing Sam's bangs away from his forehead.

Sam looked up at Dean and the older brother smiled sadly.

_SPN_

Sam held Dean's hand tightly as his brother convinced him to get out of the car while they stopped to fill the Impala with gas. The gas station was practically deserted, theirs was the only car in the lot other than a maroon rust bucket that looked like it belonged to the teenager manning the cash register inside.

"We're just going to walk around for a minute," Dean told John as their father stood at the pump.

"Don't go too far," the elder Winchester warned and Dean waved a hand to show he was listening.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean said, squeezing his brother's hand, "Let's stretch our legs."

Sam followed Dean obediently as Dean wandered around the back of the gas station. There wasn't much to see. Besides the highway, the place was pretty barren, bare dirt with the occasional tuft of yellow grass and trash from travelers dotted the landscape.

"C'mere," Dean tugged his brother's hand and they stepped in behind the gas station, where the restrooms were.

Dean opened the door to the men's room and stepped inside, turning on the light. Sam followed him inside. There were three empty stalls, three unoccupied urinals and two sinks with mirrors over them.

"Look," Dean turned to one of the sinks and pointed to their reflection in the water-spotted mirror.

Sam stared at his face: he had dark circles beneath his eyes but his bruises seemed to be fading, the long scrape along the side of his face was scabbed-over. Dean reached out and put a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"You're getting better," Dean said, speaking quietly, "Soon you'd never know what happened to you."

Sam lowered his gaze. He knew Dean was trying to make him feel better and he appreciated it. His eyes caught sight of the tattoo on the inside of his left arm and he released Dean's hand to put his fingers over the mark, hiding it from view.

Dean's gaze followed Sam's movement and his smile faded, his eyes pinched in sympathy.

"It's just a mark," Dean told him, "Like a scar. We have tons of those, so does Dad, and they're nothing to be ashamed of. They mean we're strong, they show we're fighters. Survivors."

Sam lifted his gaze and smiled at his brother.

"Let's head back to the car," Dean said and Sam followed him outside, his hand falling away from his arm as they stepped back into the sunshine.

_W_

John was sitting in the driver's seat, waiting for them when the brothers came back around the building.

As Sam and Dean climbed into the backseat he handed Dean a plastic bag. The younger Winchester took it and saw it had a couple of bottles of Gatorade and some snacks inside.

"That should tide you over until we stop," John explained and started the car.

"Do you know where we're spending the night? Another motel?" Dean asked as he opened a bottle of orange Gatorade and handed it to Sam, hoping his brother would at least drink some of it.

John shook his head, "We're going to stop at a friend's place."

Dean looked sharply at his father, "Who?"

"You probably don't remember her," John began, pulling the classic Chevy onto the highway, "But her name is Ellen Harvelle. She owns a roadhouse in Nebraska. I used to hunt with her husband. She has a girl a couple of years younger than your brother."

The woman's name sounded vaguely familiar to Dean but that wasn't anything new. His father was well-known in the hunting community and frequently lost contact with people who would suddenly pop back into their lives years later.

"When were you going to tell us this?" Dean snapped, angry that his father hadn't said anything earlier.

Sam looked at Dean. He thought they were going to see Bobby.

"Dean," Sam whimpered and Dean turned to him, giving his hand a comforting squeeze.

"I didn't think it was important," John commented nonchalantly, "I know you might not believe it, Dean, but I know what I'm doing."

"Did you tell her what happened to Sammy? Did you give her the play-by-play?" Dean growled.

"I told her what she needed to know," John replied, his dark eyes narrowed.

"How many other 'friends' are we stopping to see on the way to Bobby's anyway? And are you charging them because if you're going to act like Sam's some circus freak than we might as well get paid for it," Dean snarled sarcastically.

"That's not what's happening, Dean, and you know it!" John argued, raising his voice, "I am trying to help Sam!"

Sam whimpered and grabbed Dean's shirt with his free hand.

"Stop yelling," Dean put an arm around his brother, "You're scaring Sam."

John opened his mouth, perhaps to make a comment on what should scare his youngest son but then closed it, shaking his head.

"I know you don't believe me but I do know what I'm doing."

Dean ignored John and hugged Sam, hoping that their father was right, even if he was being an ass about it.

_W_

The rest of the drive to Nebraska was uneventful. Sam slept on and off, Dean ate his way through the snacks John had bought at the gas station and the eldest Winchester kept his gaze on the road, lost in his own private thoughts.

The scenery was much the same as it had been when they'd stopped to get gas: dirt, struggling clumps of grass, discarded food wrappers, soda cans in the ditches along the road, telephone poles. The only thing that changed was the position of the sun. It steadily drew closer and closer to the horizon as the hours passed, growing from a bright white to a crimson ball of flames the further down it climbed.

John glanced in the rearview mirror at his sons as the last ray of sunlight vanished and the sky rapidly turned dark.

"We're almost there," he told Dean.

The older brother gently shook his sibling's shoulder, rousing him from his slumber.

"Dad says we're nearly there," Dean told Sam.

The younger brother sat up and rubbed his eyes for a moment before searching the darkened interior of the vehicle.

"What are you looking for, Sammy?" Dean asked.

"Where's my jacket?"

"I think it's in your duffel bag," Dean told him, "In the trunk."

"I want it," Sam muttered, right hand moving to once again cover the series of numbers inked into the skin of his left arm.

"Okay," Dean responded gently, "We'll get it before we go inside."

"What's wrong?" John spoke up from the front seat.

"Sam wants his jacket before we go inside," Dean told him.

"Why? We're only going to be outside for a minute or two and it's not cold out," John asked, his dark eyes glancing at his youngest son in the mirror.

"So? He wants to wear his jacket," Dean asked.

"I don't know what Sam's so self-conscious about," John grumbled, "Ellen's a friend. Besides, she knows what happened to-"

Dean stopped listening.

"Here Sammy," he said and shrugged out of his leather jacket and handed it to his brother, "You can wear mine."

Sam held the warm, worn material in his hands for a moment before nodding and slipping the jacket over his shoulders, slipping his hands through the sleeves.

Dean glanced at his brother, "I don't think you need this anymore."

He reached up and carefully peeled the bandage from the cut on Sam's brow.

Dean glanced out the window and saw they were approaching a large building that loomed close to the road, yellow light visible in its windows.

"There it is," John began slowing the Impala, "Harvelle's Roadhouse."

In Dean's humble opinion, the weathered, clapboard building looked as though it had been standing when cowboys and Indians still freely roamed the plains of Nebraska.

John pulled into the large gravel parking lot beside the roadhouse and cut the engine. There was only one other vehicle in the lot, a silver van that probably belonged to Ellen, used to carry deliveries to the bar.

The eldest Winchester stepped out of the Impala and stretched.

"C'mon, they're waiting for us," John commented.

Dean glanced at his brother as Sam reached for his hand.

"It's okay Sammy," he assured his sibling.

Slowly, because it took Sam some convincing, the brothers exited the car and stood beside John.

Their father glanced down, noticing that Sam was hanging onto Dean's hand and then looked at his eldest son.

"What?" Dean asked aggressively.

"You're eighteen and twenty-two," John reminded them, "Don't hold hands like you're children."

Dean ignored him. If Sam needed to hold his hand, Dean was going to let him.

"Don't worry Dad," Dean muttered mutinously, "We won't embarrass you in front of Ellen."

John just shook his head and walked to the trunk, unlocked it and gathered their duffels.

"Gimme Sam's," Dean held his hand out. John handed Dean his own bag, which he hung over his shoulder by its strap and then took his brother's in his free hand.

John led the way around to the front of the roadhouse, climbing the two steps onto the wide wooden porch and opened the door.

Sam stopped at the porch and refused to move.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean assured his brother, squeezing his hand, "Dad said Ellen's a friend."

They could hear muffled voices coming from inside the roadhouse.

"It's just a place to stay the night," Dean reminded him, "Then we'll head to Bobby's in the morning."

Sam nodded and followed his brother up the steps and onto the porch. The door opened and John stood there, looking slightly annoyed at his sons.

"Come inside," he said, gesturing the two through the doorway.

Dean went first, standing in front of Sam as though unconsciously shielding him from some potential threat but all he saw was a short woman with brown hair and eyes, wearing a faded blue jacket and a smile.

"Dean," Ellen came forward and put her hands on the young man's arms, "The last time you were here you stole all the root beer from the soda fridge."

Dean forced himself to smile. He had no recollection of that but it sounded like something he might do.

"Ellen," John spoke up, "This is Sam."

Ellen's brown eyes turned to the youngest Winchester.

"I'm sorry for what happened to you," she said.

Sam squeezed Dean's hand tightly.

"Have you eaten yet? Jo and I were waiting on dinner in case you hadn't had anything," Ellen spoke to John now.

"We haven't had dinner, no," he told her.

"Great," Ellen announced, "I made stew and biscuits."

"You didn't have to go to the trouble-" John began but Ellen tsked.

"I couldn't just let you starve," she told him.

"Well, thank you for doing that," John replied, "I know we haven't always seen eye-to-eye."

Ellen waved a hand as turned around, walking towards the back of the bar, "It's my pleasure. Now, sit anywhere you like, Jo and I will bring the food out."

The Winchesters drifted over to a table and sat down, Sam moving his chair so that it was right beside his brother. He hadn't let go of Dean's hand yet.

"You should take the jacket off," John said, "It's only polite."

Sam hunched his shoulders.

"Since when have you cared about what's polite or not?" Dean hissed.

As if to make a point, John removed his own coat and draped it over the back of his chair.

Sam looked up at Dean with a pleading expression.

"You don't have to take the jacket off," Dean murmured to him.

Dean turned around as footsteps approached and he saw a girl, a couple of years younger than Sammy, balancing a stack of bowls and plates in her hands.

"You must be Jo," John said as the girl reached their table and set the dishes down.

"Yeah," she brushed a lock of blonde hair away from her face, "That's me."

"These are my sons, Dean and-" John began when Jo interrupted.

"Sam," she turned to peer at the youngest Winchester, "Mom told me about you."

Dean stared at his father as Jo headed off the way she had come. Sam stared after the girl, his eyes wide, before turning to look at his brother.

"Dean?" Sam muttered, "Does she-?"

Dean squeezed his brother's hand, "It's okay, Sam."

He could see his brother's pale cheeks sudden redden with embarrassment. Just how much had John told Ellen and in turn what had she told her daughter?

He turned to John, glaring at his father.

"Why don't we just make Sammy a billboard to wear around his neck so everyone will know what happened to him?" Dean growled.

John leaned forward, "I didn't know Ellen was going to talk to her."

Dean just shook his head.

The sounds of talking and footsteps interrupted any more confrontation between the Winchesters as Ellen and Jo returned, the mother carrying the pot from a slow cooker wand the daughter carrying a basket of biscuits.

Once the Harvelles had seated themselves, Ellen spoke up, "Help yourselves, it's nothing fancy."

_SPN_

Sam didn't know what to think. Up until now he had been so sure- convinced, really- that what he was experiencing was an illusion, that it was some sort of delusion, either drug-induced or as a result of a traumatized mind retreating into the safety of unreality.

He had been terrified that when he entered the Roadhouse his brother and father would vanish and he'd once again be faced with Magnus and the Brothers, that he simply couldn't continue to conjure a place he hadn't been to in years, that he wouldn't be able to imagine two people he had only seen perhaps a handful of times while he was a child.

Now though, sitting at a table in the Roadhouse bar with Ellen and Jo Harvelle, he dared to think… to believe… that maybe, just maybe Dean had succeeded in saving him from the basement.

"Sam?" Dean's voice jolted him from his thoughts, "You should really eat something."

Sam stared down at the bowl of stew sitting in front of him.

"Is he okay, Dean? I can make him something else if-" Ellen began but Dean shook his head.

"Thanks," he told her, "But it's okay."

Sam reached up and grabbed the amulet around his neck. He looked at Ellen and Jo, told himself that this was real, that they were real, that there was no way he could be imagining this.

Tears pricked at the corners of Sam's eyes but he fought them.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean encouraged, "Just a couple of bites, what do you say?"

Sam watched as his brother ate a spoonful of stew and he picked up his own spoon and slid it into the steaming bowl in front of him.

Sam felt Dean's eyes on him as he lifted his spoon and ate a mouthful of stew. His brother didn't say anything but he felt Dean squeeze his hand beneath the table.

_SPN_

Dean sat on the edge of the narrow bed beside Sam, carding a hand through his brother's hair. The Roadhouse had a couple of rooms that had been converted from storerooms to bedrooms for weary truck drivers who needed a place to rest for a couple of hours and didn't want to sleep in their cabs. Dean and Sam took one of these rooms while their father took the other, directly across from them.

Sam had been quiet throughout dinner but he had eaten half his bowl of stew- the most he'd had since they'd rescued him- before Dean asked if there was anywhere his brother could lay down.

Dean could hear the sounds of Jo and Ellen down the hall, washing the dishes from dinner in the bar's kitchen but their words were quiet, muffled.

"Sammy, you asleep?" Dean asked and his brother opened his eyes.

"Dean," Sam whispered.

"You need to get some rest," Dean told him.

Sam's eyes closed halfway.

"Can't," he muttered.

Dean frowned, "Why not?"

Sam sat up and drew his knees to his chest.

"I keep thinking…" Sam hesitated, his gaze on his feet.

"Thinking about what?" Dean asked.

"Thinking about Terry," Sam whispered.

"Your roommate?"

Sam nodded.

Dean wasn't sure what to say at first. He didn't want to give his brother false hope or anything but he also couldn't bear to see Sam so dejected.

"Maybe… Maybe when we get to Bobby's place he could help us find Terry," Dean offered.

"I don't know," Sam muttered.

Dean frowned, "What don't you know?"

"I don't…" Sam hesitated.

"What?" Dean reached out and put his hand on his brother's chin, "What's going on?"

Sam shook his head.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean urged, "Talk to me. Maybe I can help you."

Sam sighed and looked at Dean with wet eyes.

"I don't know if I want to find him."

Dean's eyebrows furrowed, "What do you mean?"

Sam looked away again. He had already said too much and now he couldn't go back.

"I know he didn't meant to," Sam muttered, so quiet that Dean had to strain to hear him even though he was sitting right beside his brother, "I know he wasn't himself."

"What did he do, Sammy? Did he hurt you?"

Sam didn't speak but nodded.

"Sammy?" Dean said, unable to say anything else.

Sam sucked in a shaky breath.

"What did he do?" Dean repeated.

"They were hitting me," Sam muttered.

"It was more than just Terry?" Dean asked and Sam nodded.

"Magnus told them I had to be punished," Sam continued, "Because I wouldn't do what he wanted."

Dean's hands curled into fists. He wanted to punch this Magnus in his face or better yet, throttle him.

"I… I tried to stop it," Sam whispered, "But they wouldn't listen… They only listened to him…"

Sam let out a sob and Dean felt his heart break for his brother.

"I… I thought that was it… but… Magnus told them…. He told them to…" Sam's sentence dissolved into crying and Dean reached out, wrapping his arms around his brother.

Sam pressed his face against Dean's shoulder and spoke, his words muffled, "They… they… raped me."

Dean grasped his brother tighter as he heard his brother's confession.

"No, Sammy," Dean ground out, as though trying to make his brother's words untrue.

"I c-couldn't s-st-stop them," Sam cried, clutching Dean's shirt.

Dean brushed Sam's hair back from his forehead, his hand grazing the healing gash on his brother's brow.

Sam released one hand from Dean's shirt and touched the scabbed-over cut.

"I f-fought," Sam whispered, "I t-tried to b-be strong…"

"Sammy," Dean murmured.

"M-Magnus and the Brothers… they hurt me f-first…"

Dean shook his head. He wanted to put his hands over his ears and block out what his brother was saying but he knew he couldn't.

"T-Terry and the others w-were only d-doing what th-they'd seen… seen the… the… B-B-" Sam couldn't finish his sentence and dissolved into sobs again.

"Shhh Sammy," Dean gripped his brother tighter.

The older Winchester closed his eyes, feeling his gorge rise. He couldn't believe it, didn't want to believe it but there was no avoiding the truth. Not only had his sibling been raped by a group of sick human traffickers, those same bastards had convinced a bunch of eighteen-year old's to do the same thing to him.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured, "It'll be okay."

His brother seemed to be unable to stop crying. Dean let him though, not trying to stop him.

Eventually Sam finally quieted down, exhausted and lay down, curled in the fetal position on the bed. Dean covered his sibling with a quilt and sighed. He didn't think he'd be getting any sleep himself, after what his brother had just revealed to him.

Leaning his back against the wall, Dean closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Sam breathing as he slept.

_W_

Dean crossed the hallway and opened the door to the room his father was sleeping in. He didn't know what time it was but it was late. Jo and Ellen had long ago gone to bed themselves, the Roadhouse's lights turned down for the night.

Dean hadn't wanted to leave his brother's side even though Sam was asleep, but he had to talk to their Dad and he wanted to do so when Sam wasn't listening.

Dean pushed open the door to his father's room.

"Dad?" he called softly, so as not to startle the older man.

"Dean? What's wrong?" John's voice floated to him from the darkness.

Dean turned the light on without warning, making his father grunt in surprise and raise a hand to shield his eyes.

"What's wrong?" John asked again, glaring at his son once he'd adjusted to the light.

"You want to know what's wrong, huh?" Dean seethed with barely contained rage.

"What's going on?" John sat up in bed, staring at his eldest son.

"Those… fuckers…" Dean growled, pacing like a caged tiger.

"Dean, tell me what you're going on about!" John demanded.

Dean turned around instead punched the wall to keep himself from decking his own father.

John stood up and put a restraining hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Dean?" John asked, his son's entire body was trembling and it took a moment to realize that it was no longer with anger but that his son was crying.

"Dean!" John snapped, shocked at the reaction in his eldest son, "Is Sam alright?"

Dean pressed a hand to his mouth and nodded.

John stared at his boy and shook his head, "Then what-"

"I think… I think they gang raped him, Dad," Dean managed to speak between clenched teeth, "I think they took turns."

John took a step back; Dean's face had gone pale and he looked as though he was going to be sick.

"What?" John asked, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

"Sammy didn't say as much but… He didn't have to," Dean wiped his sleeve across his eyes, his breathing heavy.

John stared at Dean, his mouth open.

"He said the leader, Magnus, and his cronies were punishing him," Dean continued, "And then he got the other kids to… to do the same thing to Sammy."

John shook his head. He raked a hand through his black hair and suddenly his feet were moving, crossing the room before he had even a conscious thought to do so.

'Dad!" Dean cried, "Don't!"

John ignored Dean and stepped into the hallway, crossed it in three steps and yanked open the door to the room his youngest son was.

"Don't wake him!" Dean begged but his father seemed to be on auto-pilot. He approached the bed where his youngest son lay and, reaching down, shook him by the shoulders.

Sam startled away and scrunched up, crying out in fear at the rude awakening.

"Tell me, Sam," John growled, ignoring his son's obvious fear, "Tell me they didn't do what Dean said they did!"

"Dad! Get off him!" Dean grabbed at John's shoulder.

"Tell me it's not true!" John demanded, staring into his son's frightened hazel eyes.

Dean now realized it was a mistake to have spoken to his Dad. John Winchester may be a hard man to read, may conceal his emotions, but of course, he could only act impervious for so long before he cracked.

"Just tell me!" John said again.

Sam's eyes filled with tears.

"Were you gang raped?" John growled. Sam didn't respond. Tears flowed freely down his face.

Dean finally managed to pull his father away from his brother and shove him towards the exit. John stared at his eldest son, his dark eyes wild. Dean raised a fist and struck a glancing blow off his father's cheek.

"Get out," Dean hissed, "Just get out of here."

He slammed the door in John's face and then hurried to his brother's side.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean grabbed his brother, "I didn't know he was going to react like that."

Sam pressed his face against Dean's chest while the older brother rocked him, trying to calm him down and berating himself for being such an idiot.

"I'm sorry," Dean murmured, "I'm sorry."

It seemed all he could say.

God, this was so messed up. Dean closed his eyes, wishing he could go back five minutes and take the conversation with his father back.

Dean held his brother as tight as he dared, comforting him as best he could.

_SPN_

A figure stood at the end of the hallway, hidden by shadows, as listening to the Winchesters arguing. They had to press the back of their hand to their mouth to muffle the sounds of laughter, eyes sparkling with malicious mirth in the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

**Special thanks to mandancie for helping me with this chapter. **

**Thanks to bumblebeecas, Allen92909, CBloom2, carlton1, bingos-gal, oooPennywizeooo, Thalia Winchester, scootersmom, onlyu-some-loser, Still Awesome2009, collegekatie2006, Mama's Stories, supermikeyninjalady, TweetyRulz, ANNA Loves SPN, BatmanLeBu, and Guest for reviewing. **

**Please take a moment to leave a review ladies and gents! **


	7. Chapter 7

**Day Six**

Dean woke suddenly, startled by the sound of footsteps moving past the room where he and his brother slept. After the argument with their father, Dean had sat with Sam until his brother fell into an exhausted slumber and he remained where he was, sitting on the bed, his back against the wall, concerned John might try and badger his brother with questions again.

Glancing at his sibling and seeing that Sam was still asleep, Dean stood and stretched. He paused only to grab his and Sam's duffel bags and stepped into the hallway. The door across from theirs stood open, the sheets on the bed rumpled, the room empty.

Dean quietly closed the door to his and Sam's room and walked down the hallway. Stepping into the bar area, he saw that Ellen and Jo were also awake and he greeted them distractedly.

"Where's Dad?" he asked.

"Putting his stuff in the car," Ellen told him, "Said he wanted to be ready to leave as soon as you boys were up."

Dean nodded and walked outside.

It was a pleasant morning, the sky a robin's egg blue, cloudless, a warm breeze blowing in from the south.

Dean caught sight of his father bent over the Impala's trunk, head down, moving items.

John looked up at the sound of Dean's approach and the son saw a blue bruise on his father's cheek.

"Dean-" John began but the young man simply handed him the two duffels he held and then turned away, leaning against the side of the Chevy.

Dean waited while John loaded the trunk and closed the lid.

"I was going to take a ride," John said quietly, "I'd like it if you'd come with me."

Dean stared at his feet for a moment and then turned his attention back to the Roadhouse.

"We won't be gone long," John assured him, "I just… we need to talk."

Dean glanced at his father from the corner of his eyes, his gaze once again focusing on the bruised cheek and he nodded.

"Ten minutes," Dean said, "Tops."

John nodded.

Dean moved around to the right side of the vehicle and climbed into the passenger's side while John took a seat behind the wheel and put the key in the ignition. Dean folded his arms over his chest as they drove slowly through the parking lot and turned to the left, moving slowly down the deserted road, the air inside the car thick with tension.

_SPN_

Sam's eyes felt swollen and it took him a second to open them, yellow gunk sticking to the lashes. Raising a hand, he scrubbed at his eyes and blinked.

"Dean?" he called and received no reply.

Sitting up suddenly, it took a second before Sam remembered where he was: Harvelle's Roadhouse. His brother and father were here, Ellen and Jo were here. He was safe. He was among friends.

Although not cold, Sam zipped up his brother's jacket and climbed out of bed, noticing that his duffel was gone.

He opened the door and peered down the hallway.

"Dean?" he called again.

He could hear someone moving around in the bar area and he followed the sounds.

Leaving the hall, Sam saw that Dean and their Dad were not there.

"Good morning, Sam," Ellen, working at the bar, the strong scent of coffee wafting through the air.

"Where's Dean and Dad?" Sam asked, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. His right hand reached up to touch the black cord which held the amulet around his neck.

"I saw them leave the parking lot a minute or two ago," Ellen told him.

"What?" Sam asked, his heart skipping a beat.

"I'm sure they'll be back soon," Ellen assured him, "Why don't you sit and wait for them out here? I just made some coffee if you'd like some?"

Sam glanced at the door to the Roadhouse and told himself he was being stupid. His brother and father were going to be back; there was no reason they wouldn't be.

Moving forward he sat down on a stool at the bar, resting his arms on the smooth wooden surface. Ellen smiled at him.

"You like milk and sugar?" she asked and Sam nodded.

He glanced over his shoulder at the front door of the Roadhouse before settling in to watching Ellen prepare his coffee, her back to him as she worked.

"Here you go," Ellen turned and handed him a white mug filled with steaming hot java.

Sam gratefully wrapped his hands around the mug and watched the woman potter around the bar for a few minutes; wiping surfaces, rearranging glasses, etc.

He looked up when Jo stepped inside the bar from a backroom, her blonde hair hanging loose over her shoulders, a box of Coca-Cola cans in her arms.

"Hey," she smiled at Sam.

He didn't smile back. He was fighting the urge to look at the doorway again. He wanted his brother and father to come back soon.

"Sam, why don't you drink your coffee while it's still hot?" Ellen spoke up, smiling at the young man.

Glancing down at the mug of coffee, as though he had forgotten all about it, Sam lifted the cup and took a small sip, the steaming beverage burning his tongue.

_SPN_

Dean glanced at John from the corner of his eye as they drove.

"Okay, you wanted to talk," he growled, "Let's talk."

John didn't respond for a moment but pulled onto the gravel shoulder of the road and cut the engine. Dean lifted an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry about what happened last night," John muttered, his hands still gripping the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on some point beyond the windshield.

"Don't apologize to me," Dean told him, "You need to apologize to Sam."

Their father nodded, "I know, I know I do. And I will but I also owe you an apology."

Dean stared at his father. John Winchester was never, ever wrong and if he was, he sure as hell wasn't going to admit it.

"I should have listened to you when you first said we needed to go to California, I should have dropped everything and went to make sure Sam was all right," John said, his voice quiet.

"You're damn-" Dean began but his father held a hand up to stop him.

"Just let me speak," John begged, "Please."

Dean didn't respond.

"I know you're angry at me and I wouldn't be surprised if Sam felt the same way but you two have no idea… no idea how guilty I feel."

Dean remained silent.

"Sam is my son, my baby and to know that I could have stopped him from getting hurt… that it was my choice that made it worse for him…" John hesitated, "I'll never forgive myself for that."

Dean waited. John didn't say anything else.

"Why are you telling me this?" Dean finally asked.

John now peered at his eldest son, his dark eyes red-rimmed and moist.

"I know you think I don't care," he said, "I know you think I'm an asshole, that I'm just obsessed with revenge but I'm not. You and Sam… I know I may not show it all the time or even most of the time but you two are so important to me. You and your brother are the only thing of Mary I have left and to know that I messed up, that Sam was hurt because of something I didn't do…"

John just shook his head, unable to finish the sentence.

Dean didn't know what to say. Was he supposed to tell his father that he was forgiven? Was he supposed to tell his father that he understood why he'd decided to wait to go to California to check on Sam? Because if that's what John wanted, he was going to be waiting a long time.

John cleared his throat, turned his attention back to the windshield.

"We'll have breakfast with Ellen and Jo and then head to Sioux Falls," he told Dean and turned the key in the ignition, pulled a U-Turn and headed back towards the Roadhouse.

_SPN_

Sam frowned when his vision suddenly blurred and he squeezed his eyes shut for a second and his eyes cleared. Ellen remained behind the bar, watching him.

"Are you feeling all right, Sam?" she asked.

"Yeah," Sam muttered.

"Is the coffee okay?" she asked.

"Mmhm," Sam hummed and looked up at the sound of a car's tires crunching on the gravel of the Roadhouse's parking lot. He took a second cautious sip of coffee before deciding that he didn't want anymore. He carefully pushed the cup across the bar.

The creak of a vehicle door's opening and several pairs of footsteps crunching gravel sounded and Sam turned to face the bar again. Maybe it was some tourists looking for a breakfast place.

Ellen paused and smiled at the customers as they entered the bar, their footsteps approaching and stopping behind Sam..

"Hello Sam," Magnus' voice spoke and Sam felt all the blood in his veins freeze.

The eighteen-year old turned around and there he stood, smiling, blue eyes sparkling, flanked on either side by Brothers Titus and Darius.

Sam's vision blurred again and he scrambled off the stool he was sitting on, stumbling as his legs refused to cooperate.

"Grab him," Magnus ordered and Darius and Titus lunged forwards.

"No!" Sam cried out but staggered backwards against the wall, his legs feeling like they were made of overcooked noodles, his vision blurring for a third time.

He tried to fight, tried to punch at his attackers but his arms felt as though they weighed a thousand pounds he was couldn't seem to put any strength into them.

Titus and Darius quickly subdued the young man, grabbing him by his arms and dragging him forwards.

Magnus smiled at Sam.

"Let me go," Sam whimpered.

The blond-haired man reached out and put a hand on Sam's cheek, "You know I can't do that. You're already bought and paid for."

Sam let out a sob of fear.

"Go now," Ellen's voice spoke from behind the bar, "You don't have a lot of time."

Sam turned his head and saw the woman standing there, arms crossed over her breasts.

"Help me!" Sam cried as Titus and Darius began pulling him towards the doorway.

"Help me! Please!"

Ellen didn't move. She stood behind the bar, watching silently as Sam was dragged out the door.

The young man struggled to break free of his captors but it was no use, they were too strong.

Sam watched with a flare of hope as a red minivan approached the Roadhouse, slowing down as it did so. The driver, a middle-aged man with a woman, probably his wife beside him, stared at the four men in the parking lot before quickly accelerating and heading down the road.

They reached the car- a nondescript silver Crown Victoria- and Magnus opened the rear passenger door. Titus shoved Sam into the car and then sat down on the left hand passenger's seat. Darius moved to the other side and sat on the right side, the eighteen-year old squeezed between them, once again grabbing his arms painfully.

Magnus closed the door and then climbed into the driver's seat, started the engine and turned the car so that it was facing the direction they had come from, towards California.

_SPN_

Dean stared out the window as they drove back to the Roadhouse. He wanted nothing more than to get his brother and head to Bobby's.

Dean looked up as they drove closer to the bar and he saw a silver car waiting to pull out. John slowed down as they approached the parking lot but the driver of the other car seemed to grow impatient and pulled out suddenly, nearly colliding with the Impala before turning in the opposite direction and speeding down the road.

Dean sat up suddenly, watching the car rush past as John swore out loud.

"Was that…" Dean felt his heart skip a beat. He could have sworn he had seen his brother in the back seat of that car.

"Stop!" Dean exclaimed, reaching out to put a hand on his father's arm. John slammed on the breaks.

"What?"

Dean turned in his seat to see if he could still see the silver car.

"Sammy," he muttered.

"What's wrong?" John asked but before Dean could answer, Jo Harvelle was running across the parking lot towards them. She yanked at the Impala's rear door and climbed into the back seat.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

"Sam's in that car!" Jo hung over the back of the front bench seat, her hair hanging in her face, pointing to the back of a red minivan disappearing down the highway.

"What!" John asked, turning his head so fast he had to have given himself whiplash.

"Dad!" Dean leaned forward, pointing at the silver car quickly driving away from them.

"Go!" Jo exclaimed.

"SAM!" Dean shouted and John started to turn the Impala in the direction the Crown Victoria had gone.

"Wrong way!" Jo nearly screeched, staring out the back of the Chevy.

"Shut the hell up!" Dean turned and shouted in the girl's face.

Pulling awkwardly away from the parking lot entrance, John pressed his foot down hard on the gas as he drove after the silver Crown Victoria.

_SPN_

This can't be happening, Sam told himself, this has to be another nightmare. He closed his eyes as his vision blurred again while they pulled out of the parking lot and then started down the highway.

Looking up into the rear view mirror, Sam saw Magnus watching him.

"You nearly got me into a lot of trouble," the blond-haired man told him, his smile vanishing.

"My Master was very displeased to hear you had escaped," he continued.

Magnus' smile suddenly returned, "But now we're back on track."

"Let me go," Sam whimpered, "I won't tell anyone about you."

He was ignored.

He saw Magnus frown slightly at something behind them but then he spoke again.

"You'll have to be punished, I'm afraid," Magnus continued, "It seems you're harder to break than I first thought."

Sam whimpered, "Please don't hurt me."

Again he was ignored. Magnus was watching something behind them again, his blue eyes narrowed and the car accelerated.

_SPN_

Dean was leaning forward, hands on the dashboard, his heart hammering in his chest as they followed a half-dozen feet behind the silver vehicle Jo had said Sam was riding in.

"Can't you go faster?" Dean barked at his father.

"You're going the wrong way!" Jo tried again from the back seat but neither Dean nor John was listening to her.

"It's the van! Go after the minivan!" Jo yelled right into John's ear and Dean reached out, grabbing the front of her shirt as she leaned forward.

"Shut up or I'm gonna chuck you out the Goddam window!" Dean snarled at her, his expression murderous.

They needed to get to Sam and if the asshole driving the Crown Victoria knew they were being followed there was no chance they were going to stop on their own. Dean saw his father frown as the silver car picked up speed and he pressed his foot down harder on the gas. Luckily they were in the middle of nowhere and there were very few other drivers on the road.

John sped up so that the front of the Impala actually bumped into the back of the Crown Victoria.

"What are you doing!?" Jo screamed but neither Winchester answered.

The silver car sped up again and suddenly changed lanes.

"The hell-" John growled and then the Crown Victoria suddenly swerved back into their lane after nearly clipping a blue pickup truck.

"Is he trying to get into an accident?" Dean asked when the silver car swerved yet again, this time onto the shoulder of their side before straightening again.

_SPN_

Sam turned to stare out the back window and saw his father's 1967 Chevy Impala suddenly fill the lane behind them, coming close enough to touch the Crown Victoria.

Hope blossomed in Sam's chest and suddenly he darted forward before Titus or Darius could move and shove Magnus' head forward so he smashed his nose against the steering wheel.

"Gaarrrrggghhh!" Magnus shouted angrily as blood spurted from his broken nose and he clawed at the steering wheel- the car had drifted suddenly into the opposite lane- and pulled back to their proper side.

Titus and Darius grabbed at Sam, pulling him back. Sam flailed his arms, one of his fingers hooking into Darius' eye, causing the older man to rear back with a cry of pain.

"Control him!" Magnus snapped, turning in his seat and causing the car to move towards the shoulder.

Brother Titus grabbed a handful of Sam's hair at the side of his head and Darius punched him. Sam slumped in his seat, pain in his temple radiating outwards, blinding him for a minute.

Once his vision returned, Sam was Magnus wipe blood away from his nose with his sleeve, the man glaring at him in the rear view mirror, not seeing that he had once again drifted into the opposite lane.

"Watch out!" Darius shouted from beside Sam and Magnus turned just in time to see a semi-truck bearing down on them and jerked the wheel, causing the Crown Victoria to roll down the embankment on the left side of the road.

_SPN_

Dean's heart stopped in his chest as he watched the semi-truck nearly smash into the silver car, only to miss it by inches when the Crown Victoria rolled into the deep ditch. The truck driver laid on his horn as he passed but didn't stop, blowing past the Impala on his way down the road.

John slammed on the breaks and the Impala slid to a halt, gravel on the shoulder flying up as it did so.

"Dean," John said and reached out to open the glove compartment and grab a gun, holding it out to his son.

Dean jumped out of the car, his heart hammering in his chest at the sight of the silver car lying upside down in the ditch.

"SAM!"

_SPN_

Pain spread down Sam's spine as he lifted his head and blinked blood from his eyes. He was laying on the roof of the Crown Victoria, his neck jammed against the back of the car's middle console. All he could hear was the ticking of cooling metal.

Moving only his eyes, he caught sight of Brother Titus lying beside him, his neck bent at a ninety degree angle, eyes wide and glazed, dead. Pushing himself up with his hands, Sam turned his head, grimacing in pain, to the other side. Brother Darius slumped with his head hanging from the broken window, shards of glass piercing his neck.

"SAM!"

A familiar voice shouted his name, spurring the young man into action. Carefully, on his hands and knees, arms shaking, Sam crawled over Titus' dead body to the door and fumbled with the handle. After a second it opened and he was able to inch it forwards enough to squeeze out. Dried grass and litter crunched beneath him as he tried to stand, only to fall back.

"SAM!" Dean's voice called again and Sam looked up to see his brother standing at the top of the ditch.

"Dean!" Sam replied and began moving forwards, on his hands and knees, up the embankment.

Dean started downwards, sliding on the dirt as he did so. John appeared at the top of the ditch, pacing nervously.

"Stay there!" Dean told him, "I'll come to you."

Sam smiled, watching as his brother made his way towards him. He startled when he felt a hand wrap around his ankle. Turning, Sam's eyes widened in shock to see Magnus, blood dripping from his nose, pulling himself through the driver's side window, blue eyes flaring with anger.

"Sam," he hissed and yanked Sam's leg, as though to drag him into the car with him.

"No!" Sam cried out and jumped when the sound of a gunshot pierced the air and Magnus fell forward, a round, red hole in his forehead.

Sam crawled away from the man, tears in his eyes, and into his brother's arms.

"Sammy," Dean sat on the grass and cradled his brother to him, "Sammy, Sammy."

The eighteen-year old clung to his brother, crying.

"It's over, Sammy," Dean murmured, "It's over. They're dead."

Through tear-blurred vision, Sam watched John approach.

"Let's get him to the car," their father said gently.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean put his hands on Sam's elbows and drew him up, "That's it."

Dean kept his hand on his brother's elbow while John took his son's other one and they led the youngest Winchester up to the road.

Once they stood on the shoulder, Dean paused.

"Jo?" he peered through the Impala's windows, "Where'd she go?"

"C'mon Dean," John encouraged, "We need to get out of here."

Dean, distracted, guided his brother to the backseat, climbing in with him.

Seated, Sam leaned against his brother.

"Are you okay, Sammy?" Dean asked, brushing Sam's bangs away from his brow.

"Did they hit you?" Dean asked, seeing the fresh bruise on his brother's temple.

Sam nodded. He raised a hand and wiped at his brow, his fingers coming away red.

"Dean?" he asked his brother.

"That damn gash on your forehead," Dean opened.

"We'll stop at the Roadhouse and get you cleaned up and then head to Bobby's," John told his son and Sam's hazel eyes widened with fear.

"NO!" Sam sat forward suddenly, startling Dean.

"Sam!" Dean grabbed at his brother, trying to get him to sit back.

"No! Please! Don't go back!" Sam exclaimed, "Not there!"

"Sam! It's okay!" Dean tried, "Those assholes are dead! You're safe!"

Sam slumped in his seat and shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes again.

"No, no," he whimpered.

John quickly pulled over onto the shoulder and put on his hazard lights. He turned in his seat to look at his sons.

"Sam, what's wrong? Why don't you want to go back to the Roadhouse?"

Sam took a few shuddering breathes, struggling to get himself under control.

"She… she…" he began and took another ragged breath, "She didn't… didn't… help."

"Who didn't help?" John asked gently.

"E-Ellen," Sam whimpered and looked up at his father, "She… she just…stood there… just stood there…"

"Wait," Dean held up a hand, "Ellen saw those guys grab you?"

Sam nodded, now looking down. His vision blurred again and he whimpered.

"It's okay," Dean put an arm around his shoulder.

"She… gave me coffee…" Sam whimpered, "Couldn't fight them…"

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"C-Couldn't see," Sam whispered, "Couldn't f-fight them o-off."

"Do you think she put something in your drink?" Dean asked.

Again Sam nodded without looking up.

"What the fuck is going on?" Dean asked, his question directed to John.

"I don't know, Dean," came the reply, 'But the more I hear, the more it scares me."

"Let's just get to Bobby's," Dean said and Sam heard his father shift around in the front seat and seconds later the car was moving forwards again.

"I'm sorry," Sam whimpered.

"Hey," Dean said, "You have nothing to apologize for Sam. Nothing."

Sam sighed and rested his head against Dean's chest and closed his eyes.

_SPN_

Ellen looked up as Jo stepped inside, a little wind-swept but no worse for wear.

"What was that?" Ellen snapped.

"I had to make sure everything went as you said it would," her daughter pouted.

"You could have been hurt," Ellen argued.

Jo crossed her arms, "I'm sixteen, Mom. I'm not a child."

Ellen scowled, "You're still _my _child."

Jo huffed and began combing her hair with her fingers.

"So? I don't see John and Dean anywhere." Ellen offered.

"Magnus is dead," Jo told her, "Sam got away."

"Damn it," Ellen muttered to herself and took her phone from her pocket.

Jo stopped fussing with her hair and stepped up to her mother.

"What are we going to do now?"

"Don't you worry, Sweetheart," Ellen said, pressing buttons on her phone as she spoke, "There are more than one way to skin a cat."

Ellen smiled serenely as she forwarded Sam's photograph to her contacts. They needed no explanation; they would know what to do. Putting her phone back into her pocket, Ellen held out her arm and Jo snuggled up to her.

"John Winchester will get his," Ellen murmured to her daughter, kissing the top o Jo's head.

You take away someone I love, Ellen thought to herself; I'll take someone you love.

_SPN_

The drive to South Dakota wouldn't take long, perhaps three and a half hours and John didn't plan on stopping until they reached Sioux Falls.

He glanced at his sons in the rear view mirror. Sam sat right beside Dean, his eyes closed, blood drying on his forehead, one hand clutching his older brother's t-shirt. Dean peered at his sibling sadly, one arm across Sam's shoulders.

Dean suddenly looked up and met his father's gaze in the mirror, his expression worried.

"If Sammy's right and Ellen was working with those assholes who hurt him…" Dean paused, glancing down at his brother again before returning his gaze to his father, "What's to say Bobby isn't?"

John frowned.

"I've known Bobby a long time," he told his son, "He's a good man, Dean. I'd trust him with my life."

"I hope you're right," Dean muttered, "For Sam's sake."

Me too, John thought but didn't say.

_W_

John breathed a sigh of relief when they passed the weathered sign welcoming them to Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

Movement in the backseat caught the hunter's eye and he glanced in the mirror to see that Dean was encouraging Sam to open his eyes. The younger teen did as he was told and turned his head to look at his brother, grimacing in pain as he did so.

"My neck hurts," Sam whimpered.

"We're almost a Bobby's," Dean told him, "We'll get you something when we stop."

John drove quickly through the city, past half-remembered storefronts and houses, parks and industrial buildings. Finally, at the edge of the city, past the train yard, they reached a property surrounded by a chain-link fence, it's gate open onto at dirt-and-gravel driveway. Cars of every shape, size, colour and state of decomposition filled the yard as they approached a worn, grey clapboard house.

John parked and cut the engine. He stared at the screen door of the house for a long moment. From inside the dwelling came an angry barking and John wondered when Bobby had got himself a dog.

A figure approached the screen door and creaked it open, a streak of black and tan rushing out past the figure and running to the car, barking and snarling.

"Rumsfeld!" Bobby Singer's familiar gruff voice scolded, "Down!"

John eased open his door first and the dog, a large Rottweiler stuck its head into the space, moist black nose snuffling at the hunter's pants.

"He's all right," Bobby called from the porch, "All bark and no bite."

John shoved the dog's head out of the way and stood up. Bobby remained on the porch but John saw his old friend smile and suddenly he felt the tension he hadn't known he'd been holding ease just a little bit.

"C'mon boys," John spoke to his sons through the glass and Dean opened the car door.

Rumsfeld stared up at Dean, mouth open in a large smile, pink tongue lolling. The teen reached out and put a hand on the dog's large blocky head. The Rottweiler's brown eyes closed in ecstasy as Dean scratched his fur.

Dean turned to Sam, "He's friendly."

While his sons exited the car, John stepped up onto the rickety porch and faced Bobby.

"Thanks for not shooting me," John told him, only half-joking.

Bobby smiled, "There may be time for that yet."

The two men turned to watch Dean and Sam. The older sibling was holding the younger teen's hand, like they were little boys again and Sam had his free hand held out for Rumsfeld to lick.

John turned to Bobby again and he saw his friend's grey eyes widen as he watched Sam.

"You weren't kidding when you told me what happened to him," Bobby muttered.

John shook his head, frowning.

The brothers climbed the porch steps and were abruptly swept up in a bear hug. Bobby, squeezing the boys together as he embraced them at the same time. John abruptly looked down at the dog who was licking his pants, feeling as though he was watching some private moment.

"C'mon in," Bobby's voice spoke, "My home is your home an' all that."

The Winchesters followed Bobby inside and John saw that the interior of his friend's house had changed very little since he'd last seen it.

"Can I get you anything? Something to eat, drink?" Bobby asked, and then, "There's a First Aid kit in the bathroom down the hall, Dean, you know where it is. You can clean that cut on yer brother's face there."

John watched his sons head down the hallway to a small half-bath and close the door. He heard Dean murmuring to his brother for a moment and then there was silence.

"Beer?" Bobby asked, holding out a can.

"We haven't even had breakfast yet," John said but he took the beer anyway.

"Want to tell me what happened?" Bobby asked.

John sighed. He had only given his friend a bare bones idea of what they were dealing with, partly because he himself wasn't completely sure what they were up against and also because it wasn't his place to tell. That was up to Sam, if and when he wanted to say.

"How much do you know about Ellen Harvelle?" John asked.

_SPN_

Sam sat on the closed lid of the toilet while Dean pulled the battered First Aid kit from the cupboard under the sink and set it on the narrow counter.

A scratching at the door startled Sam and his head snapped up, causing him to gasp in pain.

"It's just the dog," Dean assured him and opened the door enough so that Rumsfeld could stick his head inside.

Sam lowered his hand and the dog squeezed himself into the tiny bathroom, approaching the young man, stubby tail wagging. Sam smiled as Rumsfeld laid his blocky head on his knee and peered up at him.

Dean shook his head and picked what he'd need from the kit: gauze, tape, hydrogen peroxide, a bottle of Ibuprofen.

The older brother worked quickly yet efficiently, as he cleaned the opened gash on his brother's brow, mopped up the blood, dried the skin around it, placed a piece of gauze over the wound and affixed it with medical tape. Then he shook a couple of the white tablets from the Ibuprofen bottle into Sam's hand.

"Hopefully those will help your neck feel better," Dean told him as his brother swallowed them without water.

Putting the First Aid kit back where he found it, Dean opened the bathroom door all the way and led Sam- and Rumsfeld- out and into the kitchen where their father and Bobby sat.

John looked up when his sons entered the room, his dark eyes sad.

The boys took the two remaining chairs- Sam moving his seat as close to his brother's as possible- and looked at the older men.

"Sam," John spoke softly, "Bobby and I were talking and well… I can't tell him much about what happened because _I _don't know everything. Do you think you can… do you want to… tell us what happened?"

"Dad," Dean leaned forward before his brother could speak, "I thought we weren't going to press him."

"It's okay, Dean," Sam whispered from beside him. Dean turned to look at his brother.

"Sam, you don't have to talk if you don't want to," Dean assured him.

"I know," Sam muttered. He looked down. Rumsfeld was standing beside him, tail wagging, liquid brown eyes peering up at him, begging for attention. The young man reached down and stroked the dog's blocky head.

"You boys want something to drink?" Bobby asked.

"Bit early for beer," Dean replied, "Do you have soda?"

"I do," Bobby replied, Sam heard the older man's chair scrape across the linoleum as he stood.

"Sam? You want something? I have Ginger Ale," Sam didn't look up at the man. He kept his gaze locked onto Rumsfeld's brown eyes, half-closed in joy as he was petted.

"Okay," Sam muttered.

"You sure you want to do this, Sammy?" Dean asked and the boy tore his gaze away from the dog to his brother.

"No," Sam admitted, "But… I feel like I should."

He couldn't speak before but maybe, now that Magnus and some of the others were dead, he would be able to tell his family everything that had happened.

Bobby set a can of Ginger Ale in front of Sam and a can of Pepsi in front of Dean and then sat back down, his attention fixed on the youngest Winchester.

Sam took a deep breath, glanced back down at the Rottweiler standing beside him and started to talk:

He told them about arriving at Branner Hall, about meeting Terry, how they seemed to hit it off right away, how they had decided to see if they could join a club or group and their walk through campus as they searched. He told them about how Terry had received a mysterious invitation to a fraternity party at Beta Theta Upsilon and insist they check it out.

He told them how he'd felt uneasy at the party and wanted to leave but Terry called him a wimp.

"I should have just left," Sam muttered, "I should have just told him I was going back to Branner Hall with or without him."

Dean squeezed his brother's hand, "You just did what you thought was right."

Sam hesitated for a long moment; stalling, he took a long drink of his soda and lifted his hand away from Rumsfeld to wipe eyes that had grown wet.

Then he continued:

He told them how he and the other boys had been shepherded into the basement of the house and told to take off their clothes.

Dean squeezed his hand when he told them about his refusal to do as Magnus said and how the Brothers had had to 'help' him undress. Sam's cheeks burned with shame and embarrassment at the memory but he forged on, telling them how they had all been handcuffed with their backs to the wall and left in the dark.

Sam hesitated again, his hand trembling as he picked up his can of Ginger Ale, brought it to his lips, then set it back down without drinking.

"One of the boys died that night," he whispered, "I don't know what exactly happened… maybe he'd had too much of the drug they'd be given… but n-no one came to help him and the next morning it was t-too late to s-s-save him."

Sam paused, and then continued, "Magnus didn't even care. He just kept acting like it was all some hazing ritual."

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he continued. He could not, would not stop now, no matter how painful it was.

Sam told them about being forced to eat rotten food, his stomach bunching into knots at the thought of it.

"Magnus knew I wasn't drugged like the others," Sam muttered, "He knew I knew what was happening wasn't right."

"Sammy," Dean murmured.

Sam didn't look at his brother, "I think he got off on it somehow… knowing that I knew what was really going on."

He continued, telling them about how he'd tried to convince Terry that they weren't in a fraternity, how they needed to escape… and being punished for it with the gag.

"They tattooed us with numbers," Sam released Dean's hand, shrugged out of the coat and laid his left arm on the table, the tattoo stood out in stark relief against his skin.

He told them about the 'challenges' Magnus made them do, about the boy named Ben who vanished, about having their pictures taken.

Bobby stood up and Sam looked up, startled.

"Another beer, John?" he asked and the Winchester patriarch nodded, his dark eyes wet, his face pale.

"I wouldn't eat the food," Sam whispered, his voice barely audible, "I didn't want to be like the others… I couldn't."

"When Brother Titus went to try and give me oatmeal I broke his nose," Sam told them. Dean squeezed his hand and offered a sad smile.

"I knew it w-was a stupid th-thing to d-do," Sam stammered, "B-but I ha-had to do something."

Bobby had stopped rummaging in the fridge, the door open, spilling a cool breeze out into the kitchen.

"The… they went upstairs." Sam continued, his gaze far away, "But when they came back, Magnus was so mad. I don't think he liked me not doing what he told me."

Sam paused, tears stung his eyes. He squeezed Dean's hand. Hard. Lifting his free hand from Rumsfeld's head, Sam unconsciously clutched at his brother's shirt, as though afraid Dean was going to vanish with his next words.

"H-He undid the h-handcuffs," Sam said, "He m-made me turn around to face the w-wall."

"I… I didn't k-know what he was going to d-do," Sam tried to keep his composure but he couldn't. Tears leaked down his face and his voice shook. He paused, licking his lips, tasting salt and closed his eyes.

"The… the Brothers raped me."

"Sammy," Dean murmured sadly.

"They… they took turns."

He felt Dean squeeze his hand almost painfully.

"That's enough," Dean said, "You don't have to say anything else."

Sam opened his eyes and looked at his brother.

I've already come this far, his expression said, I just need to go a little bit further. I need to finish this.

"I lost track of time," Sam told them, "I don't know how long it was until I finally came back but when I did, Magnus said the others were ready to leave."

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"He wanted me to stay," Sam muttered, "I think because I kept fighting. He kept talking about breaking me."

Bobby moved slowly back to the table, his quest for more beer forgotten.

"Magnus let the others free," Sam told them, "And said I needed to be punished because I hadn't listened."

"He made the others…" Sam hesitated once again, his gaze finding Dean's face and he fixed on that, "He made them attack me… they hit me and then… and then…"

Sam sucked in a shaky breath, "Terry and the others, they… raped me… while Magnus and the Brothers watched."

"Christ on a cracker," Bobby's voice whispered but there was no other sound in the kitchen save the ticking of an old Budweiser-themed clock on the wall.

Sam released his grip on his brother suddenly, wrapping his arms around his torso and leaned away from Dean. The older sibling reached out, however, and grabbed his younger brother in a tight embrace. After a long pause did Dean speak.

"Then we found you," he prompted, "We got you out."

Sam shook his head once, "They left me in the dark. I was so scared. I didn't think you'd come."

His brother's words sent a chill down Dean's spine. Just how close had Sam been to giving up when they had found him?

John cleared his throat and picked up the narrative, telling Bobby how he and Dean had found the location of the fake fraternity house, how they'd rescued Sam and thought they were keeping him safe by taking him to Nebraska. Sam added to the story, telling them what had happened to him once his brother and father had left the Roadhouse that morning.

"I never thought Ellen would do something like this," John confessed, "I knew I wasn't her favourite person but… to go to such lengths to get revenge…"

"Why is Ellen so mad at you?" Dean suddenly spoke up, "I don't understand."

John stood, crossed the kitchen to Bobby's fridge and grabbed himself a beer, "I used to go on hunts with her husband, Bill, sometimes."

Dean nodded, "Okay."

"One day, a hunt turned sour," John took a long drink from his can of beer, "Bill got hurt bad. There was nothing I could do. I had to leave him. He didn't make it."

Dean raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

"I told Ellen it was an accident," John continued, "Things happen, especially to hunters. She knew that but she wouldn't see reason. She blamed me. Said it was my fault Bill died. That I had killed him."

John shook his head, "I just thought she'd shoot me if I ever saw her again or something. You know… but this? Involve Sam in something he had nothing to do with…."

Bobby cleared his throat.

"Seems like a lot of work just to get back at you, John," he said, "There'd be a hell of a lot of stuff she'd need to know and organize for everything to work just right."

John nodded and sat back down.

"I didn't even tell anyone about Sam going to college," he agreed, "That stayed with Dean and I."

"What are you saying?" Dean asked.

"We don't actually know much about Ellen before she married Bill," John said, "She just appeared in his life one day and that was that. She was always very secretive but we never really noticed. Who in the hunting community isn't?"

"What yer Daddy's trying to say is," Bobby leaned forward, "Is that this seems to go deeper than just a plot to get back at John for something that happened years ago."

Dean frowned, "Are you suggesting that Ellen is involved in human trafficking? For real?"

Bobby shrugged.

Dean looked at his brother. Sam looked exhausted.

"You want to go to bed, Sammy?"

The younger Winchester nodded. He wasn't tired, not physically at least, but he felt drained emotionally and mentally.

"The guest room upstairs is ready for you boys," Bobby told Dean and he nodded as he stood, guiding his brother up the narrow staircase and onto the second floor. Rumsfeld following the brothers up the staircase, stub of a tail wagging.

John looked at Bobby once his sons had disappeared upstairs.

"What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?"

_SPN_

Dean pulled the blanket up to his brother's chin and paused to look at his sibling as he lay in bed. Bobby's Rottweiler lay at the foot of the bed, a silent guardian. Dean gave a sad smile and turned to leave, only to have Sam's hand grab him by the wrist.

"Please stay," Sam muttered, "Just until I fall asleep."

Dean smiled, "Sure, Sammy."

He sat down on the edge of the mattress beside his brother.

"You were very brave," Dean murmured to his sibling, speaking to Sam as though his brother were a little boy again, "I couldn't do what you did."

One corner of Sam's mouth lifted in a smile.

"You'd have done better than me," Sam whispered.

Dean just shook his head.

_SPN_

"Is Sam safe?" John asked Bobby.

"I don't know," his friend replied, seriously.

"Magnus and the Brothers are dead," John insisted.

"From what Sam said, there are more than just the ones who were with Magnus today," Bobby reminded him.

John appeared to think for a moment and then nod.

"What do we do?" he asked, "Get rid of Ellen?"

Bobby looked at John in surprise, "Yer not serious?"

"She's the reason all this happened to Sam!" John exclaimed, "And when we went to her for help, she stabbed us in the back!"

"Even if we did get rid of Ellen," Bobby said, trying to be the voice of reason, "If this thing runs deep, there's gonna be more to worry about. Besides, she's a member of the community. You'd have to do some mighty good examining to other hunters as to why you killed her."

John crushed his empty beer can in his fist.

"I just… Are we going to have to look over our shoulder our whole lives?"

Bobby shrugged, "It's that what you do anyway?"

John sighed, knowing his friend was right.

Both men looked up at the sound of footsteps and saw Dean coming down the stairs.

"Sam's asleep," he told them and sat down.

"What are we going to do?" he asked and both men looked at him in exasperation.

_SPN_

Sam ran down the highway, the sun beating down on him, dust swirling around him, the silver Crown Victoria speeding after him.

He knew he couldn't outrun the car, knew any minute it would hit him, crack his bones, squash his internal organs, kill him.. but he wouldn't stop running.

"SAM!" a familiar voice shouted from the side of the road and he dared to turn his head and see Dean standing on the gravel shoulder.

Sam gasped as the heat pouring off the silver car warmed his back and he looked behind him to see Magnus behind the wheel, blue eyes blazing with cold rage, blood smeared down his face from his broken nose.

"SAM!" Dean's voice shouted again as Sam fell, the Crown Victoria bearing down upon him.

_W_

"Sam," Dean's voice said and a warm hand touched his back, "Sam, wake up."

The young man's eyes snapped open and he peered into his brother's face.

"You were having a nightmare," Dean murmured and Sam nodded, sitting up. Rumsfeld crossed the bed and stood beside the younger brother, breathing on his face, tongue lolling out, brown eyes full of concern.

"What time is it?" Sam asked, wrapping his arms around his knees.

"Afternoon," Dean told him.

Sam picked at a loose thread on the bandage around one wrist.

"You want to go back to sleep?" Dean asked. Sam shook his head.

"Do you want to go downstairs? Maybe we could watch TV or something?"

Again, Sam shook his head.

"Can we just sit up here for a little while?" he asked.

Dean nodded, "Sure, Sammy, whatever you like."

Dean sat down beside his brother and Sam leaned his head against his older sibling's shoulder.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked.

"I don't know," Sam muttered.

"Is your neck feeling better?" Dean wanted to know.

"I think so," Sam told him.

Dean sighed. Sam's head shifted against his shoulder, hazel eyes glancing up into green ones.

"Dean?" Sam whispered.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Am I safe?"

Dean sat up straight and looked at his brother.

"What kind of question is that? Of course you are," Dean told him, "We're not going to let anything happen to you."

Sam glanced down, picking at a thread on the bandage around his wrist again.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Hey," Dean reached out and put his fingers under his brother's chin, forcing him to look up, "You're fine, Sammy. Don't feel like you have to apologize, ever, for your feelings. Okay?"

Sam looked down again and the brothers lapsed into silence.

_SPN_

"Do you think anyone else could be working with Ellen?" John asked Bobby, taking a sip from his can of beer, "If she really does have ties with human traffickers and this isn't just some convoluted way to get back at me for Bill?"

Bobby looked at the eldest Winchester, "You mean, another hunter?"

John nodded.

Bobby scratched his beard, "I don't know what to tell you, Johnnie, I hope not but you never know."

John sighed, "Yeah, you're right."

"You and the boys stay here as long as you need to," Bobby told him, "Mi casa es su casa."

John smiled thinly, "Thanks."

_SPN_

Sam leaned against Dean as they sat side-by-side on the porch steps. The younger man hadn't wanted to go outside but Dean had insisted that it was safe. So, they sat quietly, Sam throwing an old tennis ball he'd found for Rumsfeld to catch and bring back.

Dean kept one arm across his brother's back, even as he wrestled the slobbery ball from the Rottweiler so he could pitch it into the yard over and over again.

Both brothers looked behind them when their father stepped out onto the porch.

"How're you doing?" John asked; Dean took the ball from his brother and chucked the tennis ball out into the yard, high over the tops of the wrecked cars, Rumsfeld dashing off to retrieve the chewed green orb.

"Okay," Sam muttered. He looked up when his father took a seat beside him.

"I know you've had a tough day," John began, "But… I want to ask you one more question."

Sam didn't reply. He watched as the Rottweiler trotted up to Dean, ball held proudly in his mouth.

"Do you know," John began, "The name of the person you were supposed to go to?"

Dean stopped fighting for the ball and turned to look at his brother. Sam shook his head.

"No," Sam muttered, "Magnus never said who he was. He just called him Master."

John nodded, put a hand on Sam's shoulder and stood, his sons watching him as he did so.

"I'm sorry," Sam said.

"It's not your fault," John assured him and went back inside.

"Is Dad mad at me?" Sam asked Dean.

"No," his brother assured him, "Of course not. He's just trying to keep you safe."

_SPN_

John stalked back into the house and sat down at the kitchen table. Bobby was standing over the stove, cooking a large pot of spaghetti sauce.

"Pass me another beer," John told him. Bobby looked at his friend, eyebrows raised.

"Haven't you had enough today?" he asked.

John worked his jaw, hands clenching reflexively into fists but then he sighed, "You're right. A soda then?"

Bobby nodded, reached into the fridge and tossed John a can of cream soda.

"You all right?" Bobby asked, turning back to his sauce.

"I don't even have a starting point," John grumbled, "Other than Ellen and she's not going to be too willing to talk about her extracurricular activities."

"What are you going on about?" Bobby asked, "Yer not thinking of going after those assholes who grabbed Sam, are you?"

John just looked at his friend, "They hurt my son! They hurt other people's sons! They can't get away with that!"

Bobby dropped the wooden spoon his was stirring his sauce with and approached John.

"Are you out of your mind?" he asked, "You can't go up against them!"

"Why not?" John argued, "I've gone up against worse than them!"

Bobby shook his head, "That's not the point! They are not creatures; they're people! They may not be innocent but you can't go around killing folks all willy-nilly!"

"I wouldn't be doing that, Bobby! I'd track down every sick son of a bitch who was involved in Sam's abduction and make them pay!"

John's heart might have been in the right place but his brain certainly wasn't. Bobby gave a long-suffering sigh.

"Johnnie," he spoke slowly, to keep himself calm, "You know as well as I do that this doesn't just end with one person or two or three. If you go after these people yer gonna have a target on _yer _back and that's only gonna make it more dangerous for Sam and Dean. I'm sure the fact that Magnus and the other two died is no big loss, but if someone starts taking these people out, one by one, methodically, they ain't gonna stand for it. I know yer pissed, I know you want revenge- I do too, believe me- but you _can't _touch them."

John just shook his head. He didn't want to hear it, even if it was true.

"You ever heard the saying that living well is the best revenge?" Bobby asked, going back to his sauce and giving it a stir.

"Sure," John replied, "It's bullshit."

"Well, yer gonna have to embrace it," Bobby told him.

John scowled. Bobby narrowed his eyes at his friend.

"You don't want to but just think of what could happen to Sam- and Dean- if you go on this revenge kick."

The eldest Winchester paused, staring at his unopened can of soda.

"Goddamn it," he muttered, "I hate it."

"I know," Bobby agreed.

"Fine," John growled, "I won't go after anyone but… if any of them comes after Sam again, I won't hold back."

Bobby nodded, "I wouldn't think you would."

_SPN_

Dean was slurping up Bobby's homemade spaghetti noisily before noticing that his brother was just twirling his noodles around on his fork without actually eating.

"Sammy, c'mon man," Dean said, "Eat something. You haven't had anything all day."

Sam picked up a noodle with his fingers and dangled it over the floor, where Rumsfeld quickly snapped up the treat.

"It ain't poisoned," Bobby said, "An' don't feed the dog."

Sam glanced down at his plate, picked up his fork and twirled some pasta onto it. At his side, the Rottweiler scratched at his leg, begging for more spaghetti.

After a pause, Sam lifted his fork and ate. Seconds later, he dug his fork back into the bowl of noodles and began eating faster, realizing how hungry he had been.

Dean smiled across the table at their father and continued eating.

**Author's Note: **

**Special thanks to mandancie for editing this chapter. **

**Thanks to scootersmom, carlton1, bumblebeecas, Supermikeyninjalady, PriWinchester, only-some-loser, CBloom2, Lyra152, Mistycat, TweetyRulz, and Thalia Winchester for reviewing. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Day Seven**

John Winchester watched the sunrise through Bobby Singer's kitchen window. Sitting at the table, a mug of coffee in front of him, with the warm rays of dawn reaching out to him, he could almost believe that the events of the past couple of days had all been bad dream. The thought of losing his son- either of his sons- was too much to bear. Yes, he knew hunting was dangerous, that there were risks of course and that one of these days they might not be able to walk away but that was different. Getting killed on a hunt, defending people from monsters wasn't the same as how he'd nearly lost his youngest boy. To have Sam vanish into thin air, with no traces, no rhyme or reason terrified even John Winchester- and he prided himself on not scaring easily. To not know if his son was alive or dead, to not know if he was in pain, spoiled the quiet of the morning by sending a chill up John's spine.

He looked up at the sound of footsteps and saw Bobby enter the kitchen.

"I helped myself to some coffee," John told him, "Hope you don't mind."

His friend shook his head and brought a mug down from the cupboard.

"What were you thinking?" Bobby asked as he poured himself some coffee.

John took a sip of his own drink before speaking.

"How incredibly lucky we've been this week."

Bobby stood at the counter and nodded.

"How long are you staying here?"

John drained his cup and stood, taking time to make himself a second cup.

"Today, I think," he said, his back to Bobby so he couldn't see the other man's expression.

"Thought you'd stay for a little while," Bobby replied, trying to sound casual but John could hear the hurt in his voice, "At least until Sam's healed up."

John turned to his friend.

"You know I trust you," he said, "I'd trust you with my life… I have in the past but… I think right now we just need to be on our own for a bit."

Bobby nodded but it was clear from his expression that he didn't understand. He knew he should have expected it; John Winchester was as flighty as they came, never staying in one place for too long.

"You tell the boys yet?" Bobby asked and John replied by shaking his head.

"They were asleep when I checked on them."

"Just be careful, John," Bobby told him seriously, "I mean it."

The eldest Winchester nodded, drinking some of his coffee.

"And don't go looking for trouble," Bobby reminded him, "For God's sake. Just let this one go."

_SPN_

Sam startled awake. Something warm and wet was touching his feet. Drawing his legs up, he propped himself on one arm and peered towards the end of the bed. Rumsfeld crouched there, pink tongue hanging out, stub tail wagging happily.

Sam chuckled and reached out. The Rottweiler padded up the bed and laid down beside the young man, groaning as he did so.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice spoke from the bed across the room, "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam lay back down and put and arm around the large dog and closed his eyes again.

_SPN_

Dean stared up at ceiling for a long moment, listening to his brother's breathing slow again with sleep and the Rottweiler's panting. He smiled to himself. Sam had laughed, a genuine laugh, for the first time since they'd rescued him from the Beta Theta Upsilon basement. Dean closed his eyes, feeling hope that everything was going to be okay rise within him.

_SPN_

Sam's expression was stricken when John informed his sons they wouldn't be staying at Bobby's.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Nothing's wrong," John assured him, "But we can't live on Bobby's hospitality forever."

"I thought we'd stay until Sam was feeling better," Dean argued.

"Is it because of me?" Sam asked, suddenly speaking up.

"No," John told him, "Of course not."

"Why can't we stay?" Dean asked, "Where would we go anyway?"

"Dean," John began but his eldest son frowned.

"This isn't about you, Dad," Dean hissed, "Haven't you realized that yet? This shouldn't be about what _you _want. It's about what Sam wants- no- it's about what Sam _needs_."

"I'm not-" John began but Dean waved a hand in a dismissive gesture before grabbing his brother's elbow, "C'mon Sammy."

John watched his sons leave the kitchen, Rumsfeld padding across the hardwood floor after them.

John looked to Bobby for help. The older hunter busied himself with his cup of coffee and didn't meet his friend's eyes.

_SPN_

"Sammy," Dean said his brother's name as Sam climbed into one of the junk cars sitting in the yard, the wheel-less rims propped up on cinderblocks, and put his cheek against the steering wheel, wrapping his arms around his head.

Rumsfeld whined and scratched at the side of the car, pacing nervously as he peered up at the young man.

When his brother didn't answer him, Dean crossed the yard, jimson weed brushing against his pantlegs, and climbed into the passenger's seat beside his brother. Gingerly, he reached out and laid a hand on his brother's shoulder.

Sam didn't look up.

"Sammy," Dean gripped his brother's shoulder, trying to get him to sit up.

Finally Sam lifted his head, his face streaked with tears.

"Sammy," Dean murmured and grabbed his brother in a hug.

"Is Dad even happy I'm here?"

Dean frowned, "What? Of course he is. Don't talk stupid."

Sam shook his head, "He keeps getting mad at me."

"Sam," Dean held his brother out at arm's length, hands cupping his sibling's cheeks, "Dad's not mad at you. He's mad at the situation. He's mad that he can't go gank all those guys that hurt you. He's mad he can't go kick Ellen's ass. Okay, that's all. He's not mad at you."

Sam sniffed, his expression uncertain.

"You know Dad," Dean forced himself to smile, "He's always been emotionally constipated."

"Look," Dean continued, "I'm sure Bobby's in there getting Dad to change his mind."

"What if he doesn't?" Sam asked, wiping his face with his sleeve.

"Well," Dean paused, "We're not little kids anymore. We don't always have to do what Dad says, right?"

Sam nodded.

"If Dad doesn't want to stay, he doesn't have to but that doesn't mean _we _can't," Dean told Sam.

His brother's eyes widened.

"You'd stay with me?"

"Hell yeah," Dean smiled, "I'm never leaving you alone again for the rest of your life."

Sam laughed and hugged his brother tightly.

After a moment they looked up at the sound of the screen door creaking open and then slapping closed, Rumsfeld barking and growling the person approaching from across the yard.

John peered through the broken driver's side window at his sons as Bobby's Rottweiler nipped at his pants.

"Sam," John said and cleared his throat, "We'll stay at Bobby's as long as you need to."

With that, John turned and walked back into the house.

The brothers remained outside for some time, just enjoying the morning, before returning to the house.

"Let's see if we can take off some of those bandages," Dean said, leading his brother into the small half-bath again.

Rumsfeld, not wanting to be left alone, shoved himself through the partially open door and laid down on Sam's feet as he sat on the closed toilet.

Dean undid the bandages from around his brother's wrists and although they still looked raw, he decided to leave them uncovered so the air could get at them. The gash on Sam's brow that had reopened when he had shoved Magnus' face into the steering wheel was scabbed over again, and the scrape on the side of his face was nearly healed already.

Rumsfeld stood up as Dean put the bandages in the garbage and opened the door. Bum wiggling, the Rottweiler followed the brothers into the kitchen.

"Any chance we could get some breakfast?" Dean asked Bobby.

The grizzled hunter scowled, "Do I look like Gordon Ramsey to you?"

Dean, was about to apologize, when the grizzled hunter smiled, "What do you want?"

"Sammy?" Dean turned to his brother, "Anything in particular you want for breakfast?"

Sam glanced down, suddenly bashful.

"Uh, pancakes maybe?"

"Good choice," Bobby announced, "John, want to help me?"

It was clear that the eldest Winchester did not want to help make breakfast but with a look from his friend, he stood up and grabbed the ingredients Bobby listed off for him to gather.

_SPN_

Once the breakfast was eaten and John and Bobby were doing up the dishes- much to the eldest Winchester's chagrin- Sam and Dean went into the living room to watch some TV. As soon as the younger Winchester sat down, Rumsfeld clambered onto the sofa between the brothers before laying down across Sam's lap.

"Jeez," Dean grumbled, the Rottweiler letting off a silent but deadly fart right in his direction.

Leaning forward, Dean grabbed the remote from the coffee table and began surfing the channels.

"What do you want to watch, Sammy?" he asked.

"Whatever you want, Dean," Sam muttered. He was stroking Rumsfeld's head, the big dog drooling happily all over his pants.

After a couple minutes of searching, the elder brother finally settled on a COPS marathon and settled back for a few hours of mindless television.

_W_

Dean at his brother, head thrown back against the couch pillows, mouth open, snoring, with Rumsfeld sprawled across his lap, just as deeply asleep as the young man.

Leaning forward, Dean turned off the television and stood, making his way into the kitchen. John and Bobby looked up when he entered.

"Everything okay?" Bobby asked and went to the fridge, pulling out a can of beer.

Dean accepted the beverage and nodded, smiling.

"I think we may have to adopt Rumsfeld when we leave here, Bobby," Dean opened the beer and took a sip.

The grizzled hunter raised an eyebrow and went to the doorway, peering into the living room.

"Fine by me," he commented, "He ain't much of a guard dog anyway."

Dean sat down at the table across from his father.

"What are you thinking, Dad?"

John looked at his eldest son and shook his head.

"What?" Dean pressed.

"I'm just trying to figure out what's going to happen next," his father replied.

Dean frowned, "Why? What does it matter?"

"I don't like to be blindsided," John explained.

"No one does," Dean told him, "But what are you worried about?"

"Sam-" John began but Dean held a hand up, "I'm gonna stop you there before you say anything else. If this is going to be a sob story about how Sam somehow messed up your grand plans I don't want to hear it."

John scowled, "That's not what I'm talking about, Dean."

"Then what's wrong," his son retorted, "Tell me. Don't keep beating around the bush, Dad."

"You two gonna duke it out," Bobby chimed in, "Take it outside."

The two Winchesters ignored him.

"I was going to say," John snipped, "Sam is going to have some choices to make in the near future. He's been away from school for a week now and they may not let him back in… that is if he even wants to go back."

Dean relaxed, "Why wouldn't he? He's only wanted to go to college since forever."

John nodded, "I know that but if he doesn't that means he'll stay with us and I'm concerned well… he wasn't happy before so what's to say he won't be happy now?"

Dean hesitated. He saw his father's point.

"If Sam doesn't want to go back to school," John continued, "That's fine by me. But I just want to make sure that if he does stay with us, he's comfortable with that decision."

The sound of movement from the living room had the two older Winchesters sitting back in their seats quickly, trying not to look guilty. Dean heard Rumsfeld jump onto the floor and the click of his nails as he padded across the floor, following Sam to the kitchen.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Sam asked, leaning against the doorway.

"You looked like you could use some sleep," Dean replied and took a long drink from his can of beer.

The younger Winchester crossed the linoleum and sat down at the table. Bobby's Rottweiler followed him and laid his head on Sam's leg.

"Sam," John leaned his elbows on the table, "We need to figure something out. Now, you don't have to answer right away, you can think on it, but-"

Sam interrupted, "I don't know anything else about Magnus or the Brothers."

"That's not what we wanted to ask, Sammy," Dean told him, reaching out to put a hand on his brother's arm.

"We wanted to know if you," John heisted, "Well, do you want to try and go back to Stanford once you're well enough to go?"

Sam blinked, clearly taken aback by the question, especially by the fact that it was coming from his father.

"Don't say anything right now," John told him, "You take some time to think about it and then let us know."

"Oh… okay," Sam muttered.

"Do… do you want me to go back?" he asked, looking at his father.

John shook his head, "It doesn't matter what I want or don't want, Sam. It's up to you."

Sam lowered his gaze, looking down into Rumsfeld's liquid brown eyes. He had completely forgotten about even going to college.

"No," Sam answered, reaching up to touch the amulet still hanging around his neck, "I don't want to go."

"You're sure?" John asked, surprised.

"Sammy, you can go back if you want to," Dean said, squeezing his brother's arm.

Sam nodded, "I know but… just thinking about having to go back to Branner Hall… to look at all the other kids and know Terry and the others are gone…"

"Okay Sammy," Dean murmured, "We get it."

He drained his beer and said nothing else. It made him sad to think that Sam didn't want to return to Stanford. His brother had been so excited to go. Now, out of fear or guilt or something else he couldn't understand, Sam was turning his back on the dream he'd had since middle school.

Dean was still hopeful that once Sam had had a chance to recover, he'd be in a better frame of mind and realizing he was making a mistake by not going back to school. Maybe he could try again in a month or two, or heck, if he didn't want to sit in some stuffy old lecture hall, he could take online courses if he wanted to stay with them instead.

"You want something to drink, Sam?" Bobby spoke up, breaking Dean's train of thought.

"Beer?" the grizzled hunter asked but Sam shook his head.

"Soda?" Bobby offered.

"Okay," Sam muttered.

Dean moved his hand to his brother's and squeezed.

It's going to be okay, Dean thought, everything's going to be fine.

_SPN_

Dinner that night was leftover spaghetti but no one complained. John was simply relieved to see his youngest son seemed to be recovering quickly; he ate without hesitation and he even laughed a little at some joke his brother told.

They would stay in Sioux Falls until Sam had recovered enough and then continue onwards, doing what they always did; hunting monsters, saving people.

After their meal, the boys went outside with Rumsfeld while he and Bobby sat at the table, having a beer.

"Tell me yer not happy that Sam doesn't want to go back to college," Bobby said, staring out the window over the sink.

John narrowed his dark eyes slightly, "I meant what I said earlier. It's not my choice. It doesn't matter if I'm happy about it or not. Sam's eighteen; he can do whatever he wants and I may not be happy about it but that's just how it is."

"So? Yer not happy?" Bobby pressed.

John swallowed a mouthful of beer.

"Let's just put it this way," he replied, "I am happy that Sam is here. I am not happy as to _why _he is."

Bobby nodded sagely.

John peered at his beer bottle, "If I could erase the past week for Sam I would. I wasn't thrilled he wanted to go to college but I never wanted him to get hurt."

"I understand, John," his friend muttered.

The Winchester patriarch finished his beer and stood up, making his way outside to join his sons.

**Author's Note:**

**Special thanks to mandancie for editing this chapter. **

**Thanks to bumblebeecas, carlton1, CBloom2, Mama's Stories, only-some-loser, Supermikeyninjalady, and TweetyRulz for reviewing. **

**Please take a moment to review! There's still more to come! **


	9. Chapter 9

**Disorientation Day**

John Winchester stared up at the ceiling above Bobby's pull-out couch. The night was oddly quiet, not even the chirrup of crickets hiding among the junkers out front cut through the silence.

The hunter draped an arm across his eyes and tried to sleep but sleep did not come easily. His mind seeming to take advantage of the lack of distraction, turned and whirled with thoughts. Alone in the darkness, John mulled over the events at the Roadhouse, grasping for answers. Bobby Singer's suggestion that Ellen Harvelle was involved in more than just wanting to get revenge bubbled up and John frowned. Could it be true? Could she really be working in a human trafficking ring? The idea seemed ludicrous at best but, of course, at one time, the idea that vampires and werewolves and ghouls were real had seemed insane to him.

The thought of not knowing who these people who were after his son frightened John. How was he to protect his son- both his sons- if he didn't know what to look for? He needed answers and unfortunately it seemed like Ellen Harvelle was the only one who could give them. John decided then and there that he would return to Nebraska and ask Ellen the questions that had been simmering away in his brain since they'd left the Roadhouse and, if by chance she wasn't willing to talk, it wouldn't be his fault if he needed to get a bit rough.

Sitting up, John raked a hand through his hair before standing and crossing the living room slowly, manoeuvring between the furniture until he reached the stairs and headed upstairs.

Steps creaking and squeaking underfoot, John climbed up to the second floor and down the short hallway to where his sons lay sleeping. The door was closed but not latched. The father eased it open silently and peered into the room. Moonlight streamed through the window, casting everything inside the bedroom in a silvery glow. It took a second for John's eyes to adjust to the meager light and he tensed automatically when he caught sight of movement. Rumsfeld lay at the foot of the bed furthest from the door, lifting his head to look at the hunter before grunting and resting it on the blankets once again.

John frowned when he realized that only one of the beds was occupied and, stepping into the room, his heart skipped a beat. Sam and Dean were sleeping in the same bed. The older sibling had his arms wrapped around his younger brother. The Rottweiler lay at their feet.

Without turning around, John left the room and inched the door closed again. Heading back downstairs, John went into the kitchen and made himself a pot of coffee in the near-darkness. Once the coffee had percolated, he found a travel mug in the cupboard, filled it and left the house, intent on being to Nebraska and back before Bobby or his sons woke up.

The Impala growled when he turned the key in the ignition and for a moment John feared he would wake his friend. But, glancing up at the second floor windows, John breathed a sigh of relief when they remained dark. Carefully, he reversed down the gravel drive and turned once he was at the road- deserted at this time in the morning- and started towards Nebraska.

_SPN_

Ellen Harvelle woke when it was still dark outside. She got ready for the day quickly, brushing her teeth and hair, dressing, and checked her cell phone. Frowning at the screen that showed she had received no new text messages or calls while asleep. She had had an idea that John Winchester would have gone to ground as soon as leaving the Roadhouse but she hadn't thought he'd be that difficult to locate. Oh well, maybe she was overthinking it; only a day had passed since the Winchesters had left anyway. There was still time for someone to catch sight of Sam.

Shoving her phone into her pocket, Ellen headed down the hallway towards the bar proper so she could get it ready for the day. She decided to let Jo sleep for a while yet, she wouldn't need her daughter's help until later in the morning.

Ellen stepped across the threshold separating the business side of the Roadhouse from the domestic side and closed the door between the two, turning on lights as she went.

Working steadily and silently, Ellen set the Roadhouse up for the coming day; opening the blinds in the windows at the front, taking the chairs down from the tables, uncovering the pool table, checking the alcohol and non-alcoholic drinks were stocked, wiping down the long, wooden bar.

Once the essentials had been seen to, Ellen added grounds to the coffee maker behind the bar and waited for it to percolate. Sitting on the opposite side of the bar- on a stool for patrons- she stared out the window, watching the sunrise as she waited for her coffee.

_SPN_

Dean woke, squeezing his closed eyes as sunlight sliced through the lids. Lifting his head out of the beam of light, he peered at his brother. Sam lay on his side, facing him, mouth open slightly as he continued to sleep.

"Sammy," Dean murmured.

Rumsfeld lifted his head and yawned widely before panting, watching the young man.

"Sammy," Dean tried again, "Wake up, man."

His brother muttered something unintelligible and half-rolled onto his back.

"Sam," Dean persisted, "C'mon, wake up."

Hazel eyes opened halfway.

"Huh?"

"Sorry Sam," Dean said, "But you're lying on my arm."

The younger boy blinked before rolling over and off his sibling's arm.

Dean pulled his arm out from under his sibling, cradling it as he got the circulation back and pins and needles shot up and down the limb from shoulder to fingertip.

Dean slid out of bed and patted the Rottweiler's head.

"You stay here," he told the dog before leaving the room and heading downstairs.

Dean thought nothing of it when he saw the pull-out couch was unoccupied and headed into the kitchen. There was coffee in the pot and Dean eagerly grabbed a mug only to find the beverage was cold. Pouring himself a cup anyway, the twenty-two year old set it in the microwave and pressed the timer to run for sixty seconds. While Dean waited for his coffee to warm up, he glanced out the window above the sink and noticed the Impala was missing from the driveway. The microwave beeped and Dean grabbed his coffee, blowing on the steaming beverage before taking a large gulp.

_SPN_

Ellen smiled as Jo shuffled into the bar, still wearing an oversized 'Heart' t-shirt as a nightgown.

"Is there coffee left?" Jo muttered, ruffling her tangled blonde hair.

"Help yourself," Ellen told her and looked up at the sound of a car's tires crunching against gravel.

"Grab a cup and get dressed," she told her daughter and Jo nodded sleepily.

Ellen's brown eyes watched her daughter like a hawk as the sixteen-year old poured coffee into a white mug and then slowly made her way back the way she had come, sipping the hot beverage as she went.

Ellen turned her attention on the door to the bar as it was pushed open and the first customer of the day entered.

Smiling, the woman's bird-of-prey gaze took in the man who stepped through the door and her grin became fixed. He was clearly not someone who would willingly come to the Roadhouse for a bite to eat or a glass of beer. The man wore a finely tailored suit of navy blue, black dress shoes that reflected the overhead lights and an emerald green tie that shone a metallic gold when its owner turned the right way. There were silver cufflinks on his sleeves and a snowy-white pocket square in his breast pocket.

Ellen felt her grin melt into a frown. She knew who this was. How could she not? When he entered her bar as though it were a sewer teeming with waste and rats? The man walked across the floor and stopped in front of the bar, facing Ellen, not sitting, seeming to loom over the woman. She barely registered the sound of another car pulling into the parking lot, her gaze locked on this intruder who felt he could just come to her place of business- her home- simply because he hadn't yet received what he wanted.

_SPN_

John Winchester pulled into the Roadhouse's parking lot and stopped beside a champagne-coloured BMW. Climbing out of his Chevy, John spared a glance for the other car before he crossed the gravel lot and stepped up onto the narrow wooden porch, hand on the doorknob.

Seconds from opening the door, the hunter paused. He could hear voices, or rather, one voice speaking from inside. A female's voice, raised in rage or fear he couldn't tell. Ellen.

John listened, wondering what was happening inside. Another voice, deeper than Ellen's replied but John was unable to make out the words. Was it the owner of the fancy car in the parking lot?

Keeping a grip on the handle, John inched the door open ever so slightly, certain that Ellen's regular customers would not have driven BMWs even if they'd won the lottery.

Now that the door was open a sliver, the hunter was able to hear the male voice as clear as if he were just on the other side of the construction of wood and metal and what he said chilled John Winchester to the bone.

_SPN_

"Sammy," Dean's voice broke through the veil of sleep and Sam opened his eyes.

"Dean?" the younger man asked, pulling himself up on his elbows. His brother was dressed in jeans, a navy t-shirt and blue-and-black plaid button-down.

"Want to take Rumsfeld out?" Dean asked.

The Rottweiler, lying on the end of the bed at Sam's feet, looked up as though he understood Dean's words and wagged his stub tail.

"I don't know," Sam hedged.

"C'mon, we won't go far and both you and Rumsfeld need to get some exercise and sunshine."

Sam lifted his hand to his mouth and bit down on his thumbnail.

"I'll be with you," Dean assured his brother.

Sam looked up out the bedroom window at the buttery sunlight filtering through the gauzy curtains.

"Okay," he acquiesced and climbed out of bed.

"I'll just be downstairs," Dean told him and although Sam's heart skipped a beat, he nodded.

Once his brother was gone, Sam dressed quickly and headed to the first floor without bothering to brush his teeth or hair. Rumsfeld panted excitedly as he followed Sam down the stairs.

Dean stood at the front door, boots on his feet, the Rottweiler's leash in his hand.

As soon as Sam had slipped his shoes on, they stepped outside onto the front porch.

"Dad's gone?" Sam noticed right away, grip tightening on the dog's leach.

"Probably just clearing his head or replenishing Bobby's stock of beer," Dean commented, "C'mon, Rumsfeld wants to walk."

The Rottweiler had been whining and pulling at the end of the leach, eager to get going and Sam obliged, Dean keeping stride beside him.

They walked down the gravel driveway, not speaking, listening to the sound of birds welcoming the morning, the chirruping of crickets and the Rumsfeld's panting.

As the Rottweiler paused to sniff at a rust-eaten hubcap lying in a tuft of grass beside the drive, Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath of fresh air.

Opening his eyes, he saw Dean looking at him with a small smile.

"What?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head, "Nothing."

"Want to walk down the road a little?"

Sam glanced over his shoulder at Bobby's house before nodding.

They stepped through the open gate and turned left, keeping to the sandy shoulder of the road as they walked.

_SPN_

John had heard enough. Sick of heart and of stomach, he tore himself away from the Roadhouse's door and hurried to the Impala. Climbing into the driver's seat, slamming the door and turning the key in the ignition so quickly the engine nearly stalled, the hunter swore out loud as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed back the way he had come.

_SPN_

Few cars passed the brothers as they walked Rumsfeld, each bringing with it a rush of warm wind and the strong smell of burning gas. The sun climbed steadily in the sky, turning from cheerful yellow to a strident white, signalling a coming heat wave.

Rumsfeld panted heavily, pink tongue lolling from his mouth; Sam wiped an arms across his brow, swiping beads of sweat away.

"Want to head back?" Dean offered.

"Yeah," Sam nodded.

The brothers turned around and began the slow pace back to the salvage yard.

_W_

The brothers had nearly reached Bobby's house, they were in fact only a few yards from the edge of the property- the chain-link fence looming up ahead when a BMW the colour of champagne slowed and pulled up close to the shoulder of the road beside them.

Dean paused, thinking the driver was going to ask them for directions.

The driver, however, did not simply roll his window down but opened his door and stepped out.

Dressed in an expensive suit and tie, his hair slicked back with pomade, the man looked as though he were on his way to a wedding.

"Hey," Dean began when the stranger stepped around the front of the car and reached out towards Sam, his eyes focused on nothing but the teen, his expression hungry.

Sam, startled by the man's brazen actions, stepped back as the stranger reached out, his hands grazing the boy's shirt.

Rumsfeld, standing beside Sam as the man approached, growling lowly in his throat, hackles raised in warning, suddenly leaped forward.

Mouth open, the Rottweiler jumped up, jaws clamping onto the man's outstretched hand. The stranger staggered backwards with a cry of surprise and pain, kicking at the dog.

Dean grabbed at Rumsfeld's collar as the man booted the dog in the chest.

"The fuck are you doing?" Dean snarled and yanked the dog back, thrusting the collar into his brother's fumbling hands.

The stranger looked up from his bloodied hand.

"He's mine!" the man ground out through clenched teeth, "I own him. He's coming with me."

Dean leaped forward as Rumsfeld had done and slammed the man against the side of his fancy car. With one hand gripping the stranger's shirt by the collar, eyes narrowed, Dean hissed, "The fuck did you just say?"

The man's gaze slid away from Dean's incensed expression to Sam's confused and frightened one.

"He belongs to me."

Dean brought one knee up and jammed it between the man's legs, causing the stranger to double over in agony.

"Dean!" a voice, not Sam's, suddenly called his name and the twenty-two year old felt strong hands grab his arms and pull him away.

"Get out of here," John hissed in his eldest son's ear, "Take your brother and go."

Dean opened his mouth to protest but John's expression stopped him. He pulled free from his father's grip and took hold of Sam's upper arm, yanking him forward, urging him towards Bobby's.

"Dean," Sam said breathlessly as he struggled to hold onto Rumsfeld's leach and keep up with his brother's pace, "Dean."

Dean didn't answer, didn't stop until they had made their way down the driveway, crossed the porch and over the threshold into the house. Dean slammed the door shut behind them and grabbed his brother in a bone-cracking hug.

Bobby poked his head out from the kitchen.

"What the hell happened to you two?"

_SPN_

Dean and Bobby looked up when the door opened and John stepped inside; Sam had his face pressed against his brother's chest, still locked in his brother's embrace.

"Dad," Dean ground out, "What… Who… Who was that?"

John sighed, shaking his head helplessly. He didn't want to have to explain where he had gone that morning but now it seemed he had no choice. Instead of speaking right away, he approached his sons and put a hand on Sam's shoulder. It took everything in him not to let his fingers tremble.

Sam lifted his head from Dean's chest, his face tear-streaked.

"I'm sorry, Sam," John muttered through the lump in his throat, "I led that bastard here. It's my fault."

"What are you talking about? Where did you go this morning? Who exactly was that?" Dean asked as Sam once again pressed his face into his chest.

Bobby looked askance at all three Winchesters and it was Dean who explained about the stranger in the gold BMW.

John raked a hand through his hair.

"Johnny," Bobby prompted, "What've you got to tell us?"

"I just wanted some answers," the eldest Winchester explained, "That's all."

"What did you do?" Bobby asked.

"I went back to Nebraska," John confessed, finding himself looking at his boots, "I just wanted to talk to Ellen."

"John-" Bobby began but was interrupted, "It was a stupid thing to do, I know!"

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the Rottweiler's panting and Sam's sniffling.

"I just… I needed to know," John muttered, "Why us? Why Sam?"

"And did you get your answers?" Bobby asked, speaking almost in a whisper.

"That… asshole was there," John motioned to the front door, "I never went inside the Roadhouse but I heard him talking to Ellen."

The hunter shook his head, "This is bigger than I imagined, Bobby. You were right; Ellen isn't just doing this out of some sick idea of getting revenge on me for what happened to Bill. She's just doing it."

Bobby looked taken aback, as though he hadn't really believed it himself.

"The… the people who are buying these kids… they're the worst part of it… Doctors, lawyers, police officers, politicians… people with money and a God-complex. To them, us… the masses are no better than livestock, our only purpose is to be controlled, manipulated, enslaved."

"Jesus," Bobby whispered.

"They don't care if they take Sam," John replied, feeling his eyes prick with tears, "Because he's no better than a piece of furniture to be used until they get tired of him."

"You heard all that at the Roadhouse?" Bobby asked.

John shook his head, "Not all of it, I had to fill in some of the blanks but that asshole was quite vocal about what he said he owned. He wasn't happy with Ellen for letting us get away."

Bobby sighed, "The trouble you Winchesters get yourselves into."

"What do we do now, Dad? Do you think that guy will come back?" Dean asked, "He won't come back, would he? I mean, you told him where he could go, right?"

"I don't know, Dean," John replied.

"I know your first instinct is to run," Bobby spoke up, "But I don't think that'd do you any good. We don't know what's gonna happen next but it seems to be like the bastard is determined to get his hands on Sam. I'm gonna make a couple of calls an' let some others know what's going on. If that asshole shows his face again, we'll be ready."

John raised an eyebrow, "Are you suggesting we fight?"

Bobby shrugged, "No, but we don't know what these people are going to do. They could, in all seriousness, show up with an army to kill us and take the boy. I think we should treat this like any other threat."

John just nodded.

"Come into the kitchen with me while I make the calls," Bobby suggested.

"I'm going to take Sammy upstairs," Dean said.

"That's a good idea," John muttered and followed Bobby.

_SPN  
_

Sam clung to Dean as they walked up the stairs, as though he imagined the man was going to appear suddenly and spirit him away. Rumsfeld trotted ahead of the brothers, waiting for them at the top of the staircase and then once again in the guest bedroom.

Dean pulled the blankets back on the bed furthest from the door and urged his sibling to lay down.

"Don't leave me," Sam whimpered when Dean drew the blankets over him.

"I won't, Sammy," Dean sat on the edge of the bed beside his sibling. Sam reached out a hand and Dean took it, squeezing it.

The Rottweiler jumped up on the bed and laid down beside Sam, resting his head on his paws.

"It'll be okay, Sammy," Dean murmured and brushed his brother's bangs away from his brow, "We won't let anyone hurt you again."

_SPN_

Ellen looked up sharply when the door to her Roadhouse was shoved open with such force it ricocheted off the opposite wall. Magnus' former master stalked into the bar, his expression livid.

The woman couldn't help but a smirk as she took in the man's maimed hand and black eye.

"You did something stupid, didn't you?" she asked.

The man narrowed his eyes at her, not even noticing the half-dozen customers sitting at tables, eating and drinking, staring wide-eyed at the intrusion.

"Let's talk in the back," Ellen suggested, "It's private and I can look after your hand."

The man opened his mouth as though he was about to say that he'd rather let the dog-bitten limb fester with infection than step further into the bar but he decided against it and followed Ellen past the bar and into the back.

"Jo, watch the front," Ellen told her daughter.

"But I want to-" the girl began but he mother snapped at her.

"I said watch the front!"

The woman led the man into the back bathroom and instructed him to sit on the closed lid of the toilet seat as she took a battered First Aid kit from the wall.

As Ellen pulled out the supplies needed to tend to the man's hand, she asked, "So, care to tell me what happened?"

Mutinously, the man explained what had happened, glaring at Ellen when she gave a chuckle.

"He's going to pay dearly for this," the man held up his bandaged fingers, "Once I get my hands on him."

"I'm sure you will," Ellen commented evenly, "But you'll never get Sam with the way you're acting."

"And I suppose you know how to get him?" the man growled.

Ellen met the man's gaze, "I do."

She began packing the supplies back into the First Aid kit.

"I know you think everyone are sheep," she continued, "But even sheep love their lambs."

"Just tell me," the man demanded.

"You're dealing with a family of hunters," Ellen said, as though that would mean anything to him, "And not just any hunters, the Winchesters."

She gave a brief description of the Winchesters' family dynamic.

"Why do you think I waited so long to get revenge?" she asked, not expecting an answer, "John's sons are all he has left. He isn't going to let them out of his sight so easily."

"I don't care," the man growled, curling his uninjured hand into a fist as though itching to punch something or someone, "Just tell me how I get a hold of the boy."

Ellen smiled.

"Let me get you a drink and we'll work out the details."

_SPN_

Sam opened his eyes to darkness. He shivered, chilled, and tried to yank the blanket over himself… only he couldn't move his arms, they were pinned. Confusion clouded his mind for a long moment until he heardthe creak of a door opening sounded somewhere above him and turning to look over his shoulder, saw a shaft of light illuminate a wooden staircase and wedge of hard-packed dirt floor. Seconds later bright light shone down from the ceiling, blinding Sam for a moment. Blinking water from his eyes, the teen craned his neck to try and see where he was.

He was still in the basement of the Beta Theta Upsilon house.

The blood pounded in Sam's head, white noise making him deaf to the sounds of the Brothers' footfalls as they descended the stairs, Magnus leading the procession.

Reaching the floor, the blond-haired man smiled at Sam.

The eighteen-year old squeezed his eyes shut and faced the wall again.

"What are you doing, Sam?" Magnus' voice asked condescendingly.

Opening his eyes, Sam looked over his shoulder and saw the man peering at him, head tilted.

"Please let me go," Sam whimpered.

Magnus' grinned widely and, stepping close, patted Sam's head.

"Today is your lucky day," he told the younger man, "You _are _leaving."

Magnus' words only sent waves of fear crashing through the young man's chest.

"Brother Clovis, would you unlock Sam's handcuffs please?"

As the other man approached, the teen shrank back.

"No, don't," Sam begged.

"What's wrong? I thought you wanted to go?" Magus asked, chuckling.

Pain constricted Sam's throat so he simply shook his head as the Brother unlocked the handcuffs. Before Sam could move, Magnus grabbed him by the hair and pulled him halfway up, turning him around as he did so.

Slow footsteps on the steps alerted Sam to another presence in the house and he struggled to pull free of Magnus' grip.

"Hold him," Magus shoved Sam in the direction of the other Brothers and Darius and Titus reached out to grab the boy's arms.

The man who descended the stairs was dressed as though he were very important, indeed. Dressed in a charcoal grey suit, snow white dress shirt, silver tie, black pocket square, diamond cufflinks and shiny black dress shoes spoke of a man who appreciated the finer things in life.

Hungry eyes fixed on Sam and the man approached, walking past Magnus and the Brothers as though they did not exist.

Sam tried to pull himself from Darius and Titus but they were too strong; he was trapped, naked and vulnerable.

The man stopped in front of Sam. He raised a hand and very gently touched Sam's cheek with his fingertips.

"He's not as pretty as his picture," the man said quietly, "Why?"

Magnus cleared his throat and stepped forward, "He was less than willing to cooperate. The injuries will heal, in time."

The man nodded, agreeing without even looking at Magnus.

Sam tried to back away as the man leaned forwards, his hand leaving the teen's cheek to trail down his throat to his chest and lower.

"Please," Sam whispered, "Don't hurt me."

The man's hand continued to move downwards until it was between Sam's legs, fondling.

Sam closed his eyes, tears leaking past the lids.

Sudden agony coursed through Sam and he shuddered, crying out as the man tightened his grip. Nausea boiled in the boy's stomach and his mouth was awash with saliva, vomit threatening.

The man looked up at Sam's face, one corner of his mouth turned up and then he backed away, turning to Magnus. Sam lowered his head, breathing heavily as the pain slowly ebbed.

Titus and Darius, lulled by the presence of Magus' master, loosened their grip on Sam's arms but did not release him.

Moments passed and finally the teen regained his composure. Keeping his head bowed, he realized the two Brothers were at ease, not giving him their full attention.

Now, a voice in Sam's head that sounded reassuringly like Dean's, go now; run. Do it now, Sam, before you lose the chance.

Sucking in a deep breath, the eighteen-year old raised his head, gaze focusing on the staircase mere feet away.

You can do it, Dean's voice encouraged, don't even think about it; just go for it.

Sam decided that Dean was right. Even if he was caught again, at least he had tried to escape. No one would be able to say he had to take it laying down.

Before Magnus could realize Darius and Titus were slacking off, Sam yanked his arms roughly from their grip- pain coursing from shoulder to fingertips as he did so- and made a dash for the stairs.

Sam ran past the stunned Brothers and fell onto his hands on the staircase but kept moving, telling himself to keep going.

"NO!" he heard Magnus shout from behind him and the man cry, "Grab him!"

Sam hurried up the stairs, splinters of unsanded wood digging into the soles of his feet but he barely felt them. He was more than halfway up the staircase when he felt a strong hand close on his ankle and pull him down a couple of steps.

Looking over his shoulder, Sam saw Magnus almost on top of him, blue eyes blazing angrily, teeth bared in a snarl, round red wound in his forehead weeping blood.

A sudden vivid memory came to Sam then; climbing from the wreck of a silver Crown Victoria, Magnus trying to drag him back into the vehicle seconds before a gunshot sounds and the blond-haired man falls dead, bullet wound puncturing his forehead.

Renewed strength surged into Sam's limbs and he yanked his leg from Magnus' grip and scrabbled up the stairs, shoving the door open and stumbling through…

_W_

Sam jolted awake, eyes snapping open, heart hammering in his chest, a sour taste in his mouth.

A whine from beside him caught his attention and he turned to see Rumsfeld peering at him. Sam reached out a trembling hand and laid it on the Rottweiler's head, taking comfort from the strong bones, powerful muscles and soft fur.

Glancing around the room to see that he was alone but for Rumsfeld, Sam's hand automatically went to the amulet hanging around his neck.

"Where's Dean?" he asked out loud.

The Rottweiler whined again and cocked his head.

Sam wanted to call out to his brother but something stopped him. Instead, he pushed the blankets down and swung his feet out of bed. Rumsfeld stood up, panting and jumped onto the hardwood floor, turning to look expectantly at Sam.

The teen stood and raked his bangs back away from his brow. Crossing the bedroom, he opened the door and stood on the threshold, listening. The sounds of conversation rose up from the first floor and Sam lowered his hand from the amulet. Lulled by the knowledge that his family was nearby.

Padding quietly down the hall, Sam went into the bathroom and turned on the light. Rumsfeld squeezed himself inside just as Sam was closing the door and peered up at the young man, panting, waiting patiently.

The Sam gripped the sides of the counter and peered at his reflection in the mirror. He still had dark circles under his eyes, but the bruises had faded to a dull yellow and the gash on his brow had scabbed-over again. Glancing down, Sam pushed his sleeve up and stared at the numbers inked into his left forearm.

Shoving his sleeve back down, Sam met his own gaze once more in the mirror. He had fought. Even when all seemed lost and rescue seemed impossible, he hadn't given up. Sam had been trained from an early age that the Winchersters were not quitters, that, although a situation may be hopeless he must not lay down in defeat.

Sucking in a deep breath, Sam peered down at his hands, gripping the edge of the counter with white knuckles.

He was tired of being a victim.

**Author's Note:**

**Thanks to mandancie for helping me out with this chapter. **

**Thanks to carlton1, bumblebeecas, TweetyRulz, CBloom2, reannablue, only-some-loser, Mama's Stories, jensensgirl3, Supermikeyninjalady, and mimmi85 for reviewing. **


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